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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25693591">The Heroes' Journey (or, There and Back Again)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendofCarlotta/pseuds/FriendofCarlotta'>FriendofCarlotta</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Post-Canon, Recovery From Drug Addiction, Sharing a Bed, Slow Dancing, This is hard to tag because there are two Deans and two Cas's here with very different stories, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:27:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25693591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendofCarlotta/pseuds/FriendofCarlotta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When you perform a spell to defeat God himself, there’s bound to be side effects — such as every version of Team Free Will getting zapped to an alternate universe.</p><p>The former residents of the Endverse find themselves in an underground bunker full of the kinds of food they haven’t seen in years and clothes that magically fit them. As Dean adjusts to life in a world where Croatoan never got out of control, he faces some tough questions: Can he forgive Sam for saying yes to Lucifer? And is his relationship with Cas really beyond saving?</p><p>The residents of the bunker, meanwhile, wake up as employees of HunterCorp, whose CEO is one John Winchester. Being around people Dean lost years ago is no picnic, and it’s changing the dynamic of his relationship with Cas in ways he never expected. But is the change meant to last, or will they fall back into old patterns when they return to their own universe?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester, Endverse Castiel/Endverse Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection, supernatural fics i think about six times a week</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome! I'm so glad you're here!</p><p>This story originated with an idea that's been rattling around my brain for a long time: What if the Endverse characters suddenly had to deal with living in a world that wasn't ending? Would they be able to put themselves back together and try again? My brain decided to put them in the bunker. Which led to: But where are our bunker boys? What's going on with them?</p><p>And, well, here we are. </p><p>A HUGE thank you to my beta, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenraeofsun/pseuds/goldenraeofsun">goldenraeofsun</a>, who worked hard to help me make this story the best it could be. (She also writes awesome fic. Check her out!)</p><p>This story will update every Saturday until it's complete. It's fully drafted, so it won't be abandoned!</p><p>Alright, on with the story...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Dean wakes up, his back doesn’t hurt.</p><p>He pulled a muscle weeks ago, hauling himself up the side of a fence to get away from a horde of rampaging croats, and he always feels it when he wakes up in the morning. He blames the crappy, barely-there mattress on the bed in his cabin. Bed is a pretty generous word for it, actually. It’s at best half a step up from a folding cot.</p><p>Whatever he’s waking up on right now feels very different. He’s being cradled by something soft and malleable; something that shapes itself around him.</p><p>Where the fuck is he?</p><p>Dean’s eyes snap open and he’s out of bed, crouched in a defensive stance, before his brain has even fully joined the waking world.</p><p>His eyes roam around the room, searching for the threat.</p><p>His first thought is that he’s somehow landed himself in jail, because the place is small and plain, and there are no windows.</p><p>Except there’s no formal law enforcement anymore, and a jail cell wouldn’t have a bunch of guns mounted on the wall, in pride of place above the bed.</p><p>Wait just a goddamn minute… he actually recognizes a couple of those guns. One of them definitely looks like his dad’s old sawed-off.</p><p>He scans the room some more. There’s an old-fashioned dresser, a closet, a small desk — a little scuffed, but otherwise in good shape — and a desk chair. A laptop’s sitting on the desk, right next to a picture of him and Sam.</p><p>What the hell is going on?</p><p>He walks over to inspect the bedside table and finds his own colt, customized mother-of-pearl grip and all, in the top drawer. It’s loaded, too.</p><p>From beyond the walls of the room, there’s a massive crash, followed by the sound of wood splintering. Dean damn near shoots himself in the foot.</p><p>Without another thought, he darts out the door. </p><p>In the corridor outside, he finds Cas, emerging from a room two doors down from Dean's own. He's breathing heavily and poised to meet any and all threats with the mangled remains of a chair leg.</p><p>Putting voice to his earlier thought, Dean says, “What the hell is going on? Where are we?”</p><p>Cas shrugs, eyes darting up and down the vaguely dormitory-like corridor, with its long row of numbered doors. “Figured it was some kind of bad trip. But if you’re here too, that can’t be it. Unless…” Cas tilts his head, squinting, in the way that always opens something raw and gaping in Dean’s chest. The mannerism is one of the few reminders of Cas from life before Croatoan. “Did we get high together?”</p><p>Dean’s kneejerk reaction is to come back with the most hurtful possible retort; how, unlike some people, he’s not on a mission to melt his brain out of his skull. But Cas keeps talking, like he knows not to give Dean the rope to hang himself with. “No, that can’t be it. One, you’ve never agreed to do that before. And two, I feel disgustingly sober.”</p><p>Dean loses his chance for a comeback, because Cas spins away from him, looking down the corridor. Dean doesn’t even have to ask why, because he hears it too: footsteps, fast and heavy. They sound familiar.</p><p>Dean takes a breath, but it feels like dragging razor blades up his windpipe. This can’t be what he thinks it is. Or rather, who.</p><p>Someone rounds the corner of the corridor behind Cas, and it is.</p><p>It’s Sam.</p><p>He looks a little freaked out, just like the two of them, face flushed and hands clutching his old Taurus 9mm from before he said yes to fucking Lucifer. As soon as he spots them, he stops, something like six feet beyond Cas.</p><p>Dean meets Cas’ eyes for a split second and sees his own panic mirrored back at him.</p><p>Even knowing it won’t help a damn thing, Dean raises his gun and aims it squarely at his brother’s face.</p><p>Instead of the sneer or the cold, assessing look he’s expecting, he gets wide eyes and a worried frown that’s so <em> Sam</em>, Dean’s insides clench with the pain of it. Sam holds up one hand in a gesture of surrender, palm facing Dean and Cas in turn. The gun in his other hand is pointed down, at the floor.</p><p>“Hey, guys,” he says, carefully, quietly. “It’s me.”</p><p>“Enough with the fucking mind games,” Dean growls, letting anger take the wheel to hide how completely unsettled he is. “Where are we, and why the hell did you bring us here?”</p><p>“Dean, I’m serious.” Sam’s eyes are still wide and worried, like they used to be when he couldn’t find his favorite toy dinosaur and Dean had to turn the motel room upside down looking for it. “It’s me. Lucifer’s gone. I don’t know how, but he’s gone. And I don’t have any idea where we are, or how we got here.”</p><p>Dean swallows heavily, eyes fixed on Sam’s face. He <em> looks </em>like Sam, but so does Lucifer, these days. For a split second, Dean lets his gaze flick to Cas, trying to gauge his reaction, and he gets the latest surprise of the morning. He’s so used to Cas being miles away, he almost doesn’t recognize the look on his face now. Cas is strategizing. </p><p>“If you’re really Sam and not just Lucifer’s meatsuit,” Cas says, frowning up at Sam’s face, “you won’t mind us making sure, right?”</p><p>Dean rolls his eyes. “We don’t even know where the hell we are, Cas. How the fuck are we supposed to test him?”</p><p>Cas huffs. “Oh ye of little faith.” To Sam, he adds, “Don’t. Move.”</p><p>With that, Cas disappears into the room closest to him. Dean keeps his gun firmly pointed at Sam, who looks back at him but doesn’t move.</p><p>Cas comes back a few moments later, clutching an angel blade. “Thought I felt <em>something</em> when I woke up in that room. Something familiar.” He spins the long, silver blade in his hand until it's point-down. "Turns out there were a few of these stashed in the closet." He extends his left hand towards Sam, blade still poised in his right. “Drop the gun. Let me see your arm.”</p><p>Slowly, glancing back and forth between Dean and Cas, Sam crouches down and lowers his Taurus. Dean’s jaw slackens a little when Sam kicks the gun to Cas, unprompted, but he snaps it shut with an audible click. Lucifer doesn’t need guns. He can pulverize them both with a snap of his fingers.</p><p>Sam inches forward, stretching out his palm. In one swift, sure motion, Cas grabs hold of his wrist and slices across his forearm. A thin sliver of red appears, and then a single drop wells up, running down the side of Sam’s arm and dropping to the floor. No blue light of grace escapes. Just plain human blood.</p><p>For a second or two, Dean wants to believe. But Lucifer is an archangel. He probably has tricks up his sleeves that a seraph like Cas doesn’t even know about. That’s what this is: a trick.</p><p>Sam bends his arm and raises it, just above the heart to slow the bleeding. Like Dad taught them.</p><p>“You didn’t by any chance get your healing mojo back, did you?” Sam asks, smiling crookedly at Cas.</p><p>“Can’t say I did,” Cas says flatly. The tightness in his expression is barely noticeable, but Dean can tell it’s there. Losing his grace has never stopped being a touchy subject for Cas.</p><p>Sam looks Cas up and down, taking in his unwashed hair, the long stubble always just on the verge of turning into an untidy beard, the ratty linen shirt.</p><p>“What <em> happened </em> to you, Cas?”</p><p>Sam’s forehead is creased in an expression of warm concern, and that seems to be all the proof Cas needs. He closes the distance between him and Sam in three quick strides and throws both arms around his neck. Sam looks surprised but pleased, and hugs right back with his uninjured arm.</p><p>Dean doesn’t so much as lower his gun. It’s better, safer, to wait for the other shoe to drop.</p><p>When Sam and Cas let go of each other, they’re wearing identical smiles. It’s not the smile Dean’s gotten used to seeing on Cas — the one that has a sharp, cynical edge and is about as far from happiness as you can get.</p><p>This is a real smile. Dean hasn’t seen that one in years. Not since the time they snuck away from Sam and Bobby to make out, surrounded by the old rust buckets in Bobby’s yard. When they stumbled into the house an hour later, still basking in the afterglow from trading hand jobs in Baby’s back seat, Bobby told them that Sam was gone. </p><p>The next time Dean saw his brother, Lucifer was riding shotgun.</p><p>Cas takes another moment to look Sam up and down, shaking his head like he can’t believe any of this is happening. Then he aims that happy expression of his at Dean, and it gets really fucking hard to keep the lines of his own face stiff and cold. His lips try to twitch. His feet are itching to get closer and make sure this is real.</p><p>“Dean, it’s really Sam,” Cas says, his smile dimming when Dean doesn’t react, but those damn blue eyes of his still big and hopeful. “I can tell.”</p><p>“Can’t be,” Dean says, as coolly as he can manage. “My brother’s dead in all the ways that matter.” He finally lowers his gun, but he doesn’t tuck it away. “So you two have fun being fucking delusional. I’ll be working on figuring out how to get out of this hell hole.”</p><p>He stalks back into the room where he woke up and grabs as many weapons as he can carry. On closer inspection, he finds not just the guns he saw earlier, but also a bunch of knives, carefully sharpened and polished, tucked away in a drawer. Once again, he recognizes a few of them.</p><p>It’s a good thing he’s slept in street clothes for years now, in case the camp’s attacked during the night. All he’s missing is a pair of boots.</p><p>When he opens the closet, some of the shirts look familiar, and the pair of boots stashed at the bottom fits him perfectly. He shakes his head, determined not to be distracted by the pointless weirdness of it all. Instead, he pulls a duffle bag out from under the desk and stuffs it with weapons and clothes.</p><p>Rifling through the desk drawers, he finds a small pile of photos, including some he<em> knows </em> have been lost or destroyed. The picture of him and his mom, just a couple of days before she died. The picture of Sam’s high-school graduation that he got one of Sam’s teachers to take and print for him.</p><p>The next picture in the pile stops Dean in his tracks. It shows <em> him</em>, sitting on the hood of the Impala. He’s got a small, fond smile on his face, and more crow’s feet than he ever remembers seeing in the mirror. Cas is sitting to his left, looking back at him, nose crinkled in that damn smile Dean just left behind in the hallway. The weirdest thing, though, is that he’s wearing his angel clothes: Jimmy’s old, navy-blue suit, and that stupid flasher coat Dean always secretly loved.</p><p>He doesn’t remember that picture being taken, or ever seeing it before.</p><p>His lungs feel tight, and it occurs to him that he’s been holding his breath. Carefully, he sucks air back into his chest and zips up the duffle. He grabs the stack of photos and stows it in the pocket of a black denim jacket that was draped over the back of the desk chair. Like the boots, it’s a perfect fit.</p><p>By the time Dean walks back into the corridor, duffle slung over his shoulder and colt in hand, Cas and Sam have apparently moved on. </p><p>He finds them in a large kitchen with several long tables and benches, and appliances that look like something out of <em> I Love Lucy </em> with a side of school cafeteria.</p><p>They both have their heads stuck in the same industrial-sized fridge, and they’re pulling things out of it. When Cas turns to face Dean, that stupid smile is back on his face. “Dean, there’s fresh produce here. Stuff we haven’t seen in years. There’s a pineapple!”</p><p>Sam chimes right in, looking just as happy. “Don’t worry, there’s stuff you’ll like too. Beer, and bacon.”</p><p>Dean swallows down the traitorous prickling at the back of his eyes. He needs to keep reminding himself this is all some kind of weird fever dream. Maybe he finally got turned, and this is what it’s like being a croat. His brain’s mostly shut off, but it’s generating this weird hallucination of everything he’s ever wanted so he doesn’t have to watch himself tearing other people to shreds.</p><p>Cas and Sam’s faces fall as they take in the gun in his hand, and the duffel in the other, all ready to go.</p><p>“Where are you going?” Cas asks, genuinely confused.</p><p>Dean glares. “You think this is real? You believe for even one second that we fell asleep and woke up in some kind of magical land filled with weapons and food and clothes that fit us perfectly?”</p><p>Cas frowns. “I didn’t see any clothes in<em> my </em> room.”</p><p>“There were quite a few in mine though,” Sam says, still sounding so much like himself that Dean wants to punch him. “They all fit me. A few things even looked familiar.” His eyes slide over to Dean, voice carefully low. “Dean, I have no idea what’s happening either, but please stay until we can work it out?”</p><p>Dean snorts. “Figures you’d want me to stay. I don’t know how you pulled the trick with the angel blade, but I’m getting out of here if it kills me, <em> Lucifer</em>.”</p><p>“Dean,” Cas says, trying hard to suppress the undertone of impatience in his voice, but Dean knows him too well. He can tell it’s there. “C’mon, think about this. If there’s the first sign that we’re in over our head, you can leave, and I’ll be right behind you. But…” Cas’ eyes flick to Sam, and he nods, like he’s confirming something to himself. “But I believe Sam when he says he isn’t possessed anymore, because whatever the hell happened here, I think it did something to me too.”</p><p>Dean doesn’t respond because, he tells himself, he doesn’t care what Cas has to say. Not after all the shit he’s pulled, smoking up before supply runs and almost getting people killed with his fucking recklessness more than once.</p><p>Apparently, Cas takes his silence as permission to continue.</p><p>“You know what I’ve been like,” Cas says, and there’s a challenge in his eyes now, like he’s daring Dean to make something of that knowledge. “I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t high on <em> something</em>. But I… I’m pretty sure everything’s out of my system. I don’t feel so much as buzzed. And if I’m not high, I should be in withdrawal. I should be climbing the walls or trying to scratch off my own skin, but… I’m not.”</p><p>Dean feels a sudden, insane urge to laugh. His brother back, Cas sober and smiling, and beer in the fridge. If that’s not confirmation this whole thing is all in his head, he doesn’t know what could be.</p><p>“Believe what you want,” he says, already turning to go. “I’m out.”</p><p>***</p><p>The place turns out to be some kind of underground bunker. The heavy metal door creaks when he opens it, revealing a staircase that leads up to another door, hidden away in the side of a hill. At the top of the hill sits what looks like a power station.</p><p>Dean stands still for a minute, waiting for someone to come after him, or for a croat to jump out, but nothing like that happens.</p><p>So eventually, he sets off down the dirt road away from the bunker. As he rounds the first corner, he almost falls back on his ass, because there’s his Baby, pulled into a small wooden shelter by the side of the road and looking just like she used to before everything went to shit. She’s gleaming with how well she’s been taken care of.</p><p>Hoping his freaky streak of good luck isn’t about to run out yet, he searches through the pockets of the jacket he took and, sure enough, finds her keys. He’s more convinced than ever that this is all some kind of weirdly specific hallucination, but he slides into the front seat and turns the key.</p><p>Baby’s engine gives a throaty purr, and he’s home, like no time has passed. With the duffle by his side and Zeppelin blaring from the tape deck, he backs up down the overgrown path that leads away from the bunker and the two figments of his imagination geeking out over fruit in the kitchen.</p><p>After a minute or two, he hits a paved road that lands him in a little town called Lebanon. According to a sign he passes on the way, it’s the geographic center of the continental U.S. Dean vaguely remembers driving through here once or twice, but he never lingered.</p><p>As he gets to the outskirts of town, he notices something. Sure, there’s a couple of shops and houses that are obviously empty and boarded up, but most of the houses he passes have trim front lawns and a few even have toys stacked next to the front door.</p><p>He sees people too, just strolling along the sidewalk, driving past him in their cars, walking their dogs.</p><p>No one’s carrying a weapon. There aren’t any barricades. No one looks scared to be out. They just look like… people.</p><p>When he gets downtown, the best word to describe it is… quaint. There’s a small movie theater and a fucking dog-grooming place next to it.</p><p>Across the street from the theater, he spots a liquor store. This, he can work with.</p><p>He pulls up to the curb and goes through the glove box, coming up with a twenty-dollar bill. There's a gaggle of teenagers hanging out on a bench in front of the theater, and Dean glares at them. They look sort of intimidated by him. </p><p>Good. They should be.</p><p>He stalks across the street and into the store. There’s a small bar to the left of the entrance, and a bald guy, fifty-ish, in an ugly-ass Hawaiian shirt, straightens up behind it when Dean walks through the door. </p><p>“Dean.” The guy grins conspiratorially. “Went through the last batch already, huh? Trouble at home?”</p><p>Not knowing what to do with the fact that this stranger apparently knows him, Dean just nods and lets his eyes sweep over the whiskey selection.</p><p>“Got your usual back here if you want it,” the guy says, pulling out a bottle of Four Roses Single Barrel, and Dean almost tackles him right then and there to get to it. He used to love this stuff. He can’t remember the last time he had it.</p><p>But you don’t get that kind of quality for twenty bucks, so he pulls a bottle of Jack off the shelf instead. “Nah, man. Just need it cheap today.” He tries for a wink, and he thinks he pulls it off.</p><p>When the guy rings him up, Dean can’t help asking anymore. “Hey, man, what happened to all the croats?”</p><p>The guy frowns at Dean as he hands over his change. “Croats? What is that, some kind of slang?”</p><p>Dean swallows heavily, his muscles weak, like they might not support his weight anymore if he keeps standing here too long.</p><p>He stumbles back out to the car and drives until he reaches the other end of town. When he spots a logging track at the edge of a patch of woods, he drives down it a little ways and turns off the engine.</p><p>The first swig from the bottle burns going down, but the second and third feel better.</p><p>Somehow, he’s in a place where Croatoan never got out of control. A place where Cas is apparently clean, and Sam… he shakes his head so hard, it starts to swim. No. He’s not going there.</p><p>He takes a good, long look at the bottle in his hand, suddenly realizing he hasn’t eaten anything since he got up. If he drinks any more, he definitely won’t be good to drive for a while.</p><p>He could hit the road and keep going until he can’t anymore. Or maybe, if this really is some kind of elaborate dream, he could drink himself into a stupor and hope that when he wakes up, he’ll be back at camp.</p><p>But why the hell would he hope that? There’s nothing for him back there. It doesn’t matter if this is a dream. For now, it’s real enough that he can fool himself into living inside it.</p><p>He starts up the engine and points Baby back the way he came.</p><p>***</p><p>When Dean walks through the bunker’s front door, the place seems deserted. He considers calling out, but instinct honed from years of dodging croats tells him not to draw attention to himself like that.</p><p>Instead, he goes down the metal staircase and walks the corridors, searching for signs of life. He lucks out, eventually, in what looks like an old-timey hospital room, with two rows of plain, metal-frame beds lining the walls. </p><p>Cas sits on one of the beds, his back turned to the door and shoulders hunched. He’s looking down at his lap. There’s something twitchy about him that’s so different from the smiling, excited Cas he left behind. </p><p>Dean crosses the room to sit next to him without a thought.</p><p>“Oh, look. It’s our Fearless Leader, come crawling back,” Cas says tonelessly, and Dean follows Cas’ line of sight down to his hands. They’re in his lap, restless, pulling at each other.</p><p>Not really sure how to read the mood in the room, Dean looks at Cas some more. “You’re wearing different clothes.”</p><p>Cas nods, still staring at his fidgeting fingers. “There’s a shower room, down on the bottom floor. It didn’t seem like a stellar idea to put my filthy clothes back on after.” His eyes flash briefly to Dean’s face, then down again. “The ones I’m wearing are yours. From the room where you woke up, I mean. Sorry if that’s weird, but unless you want me to walk around buck naked, you’ll have to deal.”</p><p>Dean takes him in. He’s seen Cas in jeans a lot, but never in flannel. It’s a good look for him. “Coulda worn the ones from Sam’s room.”</p><p>Cas huffs. “That’d be a laugh, at least.”</p><p>Dean scuffs his boot at a stain on the floor. Something’s obviously bothering Cas, and it seems like he might want to talk about it. But Dean was never good at the talking thing, even at the best of times. “What’s got you so jumpy?” he asks, figuring at least he’s put it out there for discussion.</p><p>Jumpy is an understatement. Cas has started to scratch at the skin of his thumb with the nail of his index finger. He looks like he’s about ready to fly out of this skin.</p><p>“Sam left to explore some more,” Cas tells the floor. “Thought I’d do the same. Came down here and found…” He tilts his head at the room in general. “This place.”</p><p>His eyes flick to Dean’s again, but he looks right back down. Dean still doesn’t really know what to say, so he figures he’ll wait Cas out instead.</p><p>After a minute, Cas says, “There’s a medicine cabinet back in that corner.”</p><p>Cas doesn’t look at it, doesn’t so much as point, but Dean knows what he’s talking about right away. It’s a tall, glass-fronted cabinet, and it’s full of bottle after bottle of pills.</p><p>Dean almost opens his mouth to lash out at Cas for starting with this shit, again. The first time he ever saw Cas dry-swallowing a pill, the glassy stare and vacant grin after — it broke something in him that he’s not sure he can ever put back together.</p><p>But Dean looks again, really looks, and he sees the tense set of Cas’ jaw, the way his knuckles stand out white where he’s made a fist that’s busy rubbing up and down his thigh.</p><p>“So no withdrawal, but the craving’s still there, huh?” he settles on. It comes out rougher than he meant it to. </p><p>Cas doesn’t even notice. He just nods.</p><p>“Hey.” To Dean’s surprise as much as anyone’s, he reaches for Cas’ shoulder and squeezes briefly. The gesture feels awkward, but it’s there. “What d’you say we keep exploring, huh? There’s gotta be lots of places around here you haven’t found yet, and I didn’t even tell you what I saw outside.”</p><p>Cas looks up and, for the first time, he faces Dean fully. “What?”</p><p>“People, Cas,” he says, and there it is, that note of warmth he wasn’t sure he was capable of anymore. “Normal people, going for walks, going shopping. Wherever the hell we are… I don’t think they have croats here.”</p><p>He can hear the hopeful inflection at the end of his sentence, and he knows Cas hears it too when the corner of his mouth twitches a little. </p><p>“Good,” Cas says. “That’s good.” He lets out a deep breath and unclenches his fists.</p><p>“C’mon.” Dean rises off the bed and, feeling reckless, offers his hand to Cas to help him up. Cas looks unsure, but he takes it, and suddenly they’re standing right up close to each other, their faces inches apart.</p><p>Cas is supposed to smell like weed these days. Instead, he smells a little like cheap soap, but mostly like Cas. Dean couldn’t put a name to that smell if he tried, but he could pick it out of any crowd. He almost forgot what it was like.</p><p>An old instinct rises up inside him: to lean forward and nuzzle at the place where Cas’ neck meets his shoulder. Instead, he takes a step back and tries to smile, but it doesn’t seem to be working.</p><p>“I think someone mentioned bacon before?” he tries. It’s a weak deflection, but Cas grins, so it’ll do for now.</p><p>***</p><p>They head to the kitchen for sandwiches: BLT with fresh tomatoes and lettuce, and Dean actually does manage a smile that time because of how damn good it tastes. After, they keep exploring and find more bedrooms, a gym, a gun range and an actual fucking dungeon, complete with manacles and a devil’s trap on the floor.</p><p>There’s dozens of storage rooms stacked to the ceiling with weird-looking objects and dusty boxes. They don’t touch anything, just in case.</p><p>Dean’s refusal to believe his brother is really back starts to crumble when he follows Cas into yet another storage room, only to find Sam at a desk, poring over a pile of leather-bound books.</p><p>“Research, huh? Once a nerd, always a nerd, I guess,” he croaks, failing to hit the light, teasing tone they used to use around each other. But if he’s going to run with whatever the hell’s going on, he’ll just have to fake it until he makes it.</p><p>Sam looks up, and the bitchface he aims at Dean is another nail in the coffin of the “Lucifer is screwing with us” theory.</p><p>“So you’re back,” Sam says, unimpressed. “Decided to make yourself useful after all?”</p><p>Before Dean can flare up, Cas cuts him off, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe. “Dean went for a drive and confirmed they don’t have croats here. Which fits with the theory we talked about: alternate universe.”</p><p>Dean’s head snaps around to look at Cas. “What?”</p><p>Cas ignores him.</p><p>“Huh.” Sam turns back to his book, but closes it after another few seconds of staring at it. “Well, that’s good to know,” he admits. “And I found out what <em> this </em> place is too. It turns out this bunker used to house members of a secret society called the Men of Letters. They researched and chronicled the supernatural.”</p><p>“Researched and chronicled?” Cas frowns. “Did they hunt?”</p><p>Sam shakes his head. “No. They did work with hunters, but only a few, carefully chosen ones. From what I can tell, they were pretty dismissive of hunters as a whole. Thought they were beneath them.”</p><p>Dean hunches his shoulders, annoyed. “Well, I say we go pee in their showers.” </p><p>Sam rolls his eyes, but Cas’ lips are twitching.</p><p>“Fuck, Dean,” Cas says. “Was that an actual joke?”</p><p>Dean just shrugs, but the banter feels so familiar and natural that his mood lifts just a little more.</p><p>“You said these Men of Letters used to be based here, but obviously they aren’t anymore,” Cas points out. “What happened?”</p><p>“Don’t know,” Sam says. He gets up, stretches and starts reshelving the books. “Their records stop in the 1950s. But the bunker has clearly been inhabited since then. And based on everything we’ve seen, I’m thinking another version of the three of us lived here.”</p><p>Cas nods thoughtfully, then turns to Dean. “That’s where the alternate-universe theory comes in.”</p><p>Dean pulls up a rickety old chair from a nearby corner, head spinning. “You think we’re in an alternate universe.”</p><p>“It would explain a lot,” Cas says, shrugging, “such as why there aren’t any croats. And why all the clothes in your room fit you.”</p><p>“Right,” Sam agrees.</p><p>Dean runs a hand down his face, pulling the skin taut to try to stave off a massive headache. “So you think the other versions of us got zapped somewhere else too? To another universe or whatever?”</p><p>“Seems likely,” Sam says. “I found my wallet on the desk in my room. I don’t think I’d leave without it, unless I was forced.”</p><p>Dean blows out a heavy breath. “Yeah, and I found Baby outside. Wouldn’t be caught dead going anywhere without <em> her</em> if I had a choice.”</p><p>“I think,” Cas says slowly, “the version of me in this universe is still an angel. That would explain why I didn’t have a lot of personal stuff in my room. Also, the lack of spare clothes.”</p><p>Remembering something, Dean reaches into the pocket of his jacket and fishes out the picture of Cas and him. “This was in my room.” He passes it to Cas. “Look, it’s your angel clothes.”</p><p>Cas smiles a little wistfully as he looks down at the picture. “You look older.”</p><p>Dean scoffs. “Fuck you very much.”</p><p>“I just meant, older than you are now,” Cas says, rolling his eyes.</p><p>“Yeah, I did notice that,” Dean admits. “Weird, huh?”</p><p>“Not that weird,” Sam says, carefully replacing the last book on the shelf. “Even if there’s other versions of you in different universes, you might not have been born the same year. Or time might not move the same way.”</p><p>“Sam’s right,” Cas says, nodding, and he’s got that nerdy gleam in his eye that Dean has missed a lot more than he wants to admit. “A day in our universe could be the equivalent of years in another. In quantum theory-”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, Einstein. It’s all relative. We get it.” At Cas’ affronted look, Dean dusts off the flirtatious grin he hasn’t used in God knows how long. “Honestly, it’s been a day, and apparently this is a universe where restaurants and bars exist. Wanna go grab a beer and a burger?”</p><p>Cas grins, and even Sam looks pleased as he trots after them.</p><p>***</p><p>They stop at the first place they find, a small dive off the highway that’s halfway between the bunker and the town.</p><p>It’s not that busy, so it’s probably a weeknight, but as they drink their beers and eat their burgers — which aren’t half bad — they get so caught up in watching the other people in the room, they barely even talk.</p><p>After years of living a nightmare, it takes some getting used to, being surrounded by strangers just going about their lives and having a good time. Dean’s so busy people-watching, he actually forgets about his original plan of getting wasted. Cas and Sam seem to be having similar issues, nursing their beers while they stare at every little thing around them.</p><p>Honestly, all he really wants is to get back to the bunker and lie on that amazing mattress again, so when they do finally get around to finishing the first round, he suggests they just head back. Cas and Sam both look surprised, but they don’t argue.</p><p>When Dean finally slides into bed, it’s exactly as comfortable as he remembers. Old habits die hard, so he keeps his shirt on and his boots close by, but he does take off his jeans. He forgot how much more comfortable it is to sleep in his underwear.</p><p>As he lies there, trying to will himself asleep, his brain has other ideas.</p><p>Maybe it’s because changing up his sleepwear routine reminds him of his first kiss with Cas.</p><p>It was around the time they figured out Croatoan was going to devastate everything around them, and they couldn’t stop it. At that point, it seemed stupid to cling to his old hang-ups about being with guys openly, especially with a guy like Cas, who wouldn’t be fooled by any of the walls he was used to putting up before he let anyone into his bed.  </p><p>They were squatting in a vacant house in Nebraska, on their way to Bobby’s, and Sam had turned in early. Cas had only been fully human for a couple of weeks, and he was going through his duffle, ranting grumpily about how he hated going to sleep because he couldn’t figure out what to wear to bed that wouldn’t ride up in all the wrong places or make him sweat. It was so damn cute that Dean walked over, grabbed his wrist and pulled him in for a soft, lingering kiss.</p><p>Cas froze — probably the longest five seconds of Dean’s life — before he started kissing back.</p><p>They had a great couple of weeks after that, whenever Sam was off somewhere else, as he was more and more often. Dean didn’t think anything of it, too busy enjoying the feel of Cas’ skin under his hands, the sounds he made when he lost control and fell apart with Dean’s mouth around his cock.</p><p>Shortly after they got to Bobby’s, Sam disappeared for good, and Dean became obsessed with finding him. He couldn’t focus on anything else — not even Cas, who started following him around the country like a lost puppy.</p><p>They found Sam and nearly got themselves killed trying to expel Lucifer. When it didn’t work, they went on the run, until Bobby got a message to them about setting up a survivors’ camp.</p><p>After they got the camp started, Cas tried for a while to keep Dean interested in being together. But Dean found that he couldn’t be with Cas that way anymore, not with all the formerly soft pieces of him shattered and slicing at the inside of his chest. </p><p>He broke it off.</p><p>Around that time, Cas started smoking up and popping pills, and Dean convinced himself there was nothing left of the Cas he knew. Whenever there was evidence to the contrary, like the fact that Cas still had a gift for planning and strategy, Dean pushed it to the far corner of his mind.</p><p>So what now? He’s still trying to keep the thought at a distance, but all evidence seems to suggest that, through some miracle, his brother is back, alive and as well as can be expected.</p><p>But what does that mean for him and Cas?</p><p>Dean forces himself to shut that thought down. Things between the two of them are too broken. It’s his fault Cas turned from a flawed, sarcastic, but surprisingly hopeful person into a strung-out wreck. Even if the drugs are out of his system now, there’s no coming back from that.</p><p>Dean’s so busy thinking of everything that could have been, he barely even hears the soft knock on his door. Acting on instinct, his hand slides out from under the covers and to the colt in the bedside drawer. But before he can close his fingers around the weapon, a low, rumbling voice sounds from out in the corridor.</p><p>“Dean, it’s me.”</p><p>Dean clears his throat, hoping his voice won’t give away what’s been on his mind. “Come in.”</p><p>Cas slinks inside and closes the door. Dean can’t see him too well in the dark of the underground room, but the mattress dips next to him as Cas sits.</p><p>For a long while, Cas doesn’t say anything. Around the time Dean starts to get impatient and open his mouth to ask what the hell Cas is doing in his room, Cas whispers, “I don’t want to go down there. To the infirmary.”</p><p>Something cold clenches around Dean’s heart, and it’s a struggle to breathe past it. “So don’t,” he growls.</p><p>Cas huffs. “It’s not that easy. I know myself, Dean.” After another beat of silence, he adds, “I need someone to keep an eye on me.”</p><p>“Why don’t you ask Sam?” Dean asks, keeping his voice gruff, but half-hoping Cas ignores him and stays.</p><p>“Sam would stay up with me and distract me if I asked him, but that’s not what I want. I want to sleep. I want…” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is weirdly thick. “I just want some damn comfort. I always used to have that when we shared a bed.”</p><p>“I’m not having sex with you.” Dean rolls over, turning his back to Cas, in case he has enough angel left in him to read Dean’s expression in the dark.</p><p>“I’m not asking for that. I want to sleep and be close to another person. Do you think you can do that?”</p><p>The request is so blunt, so straightforward, so<em> Cas</em>. Dean swallows down the lump in his throat, but he doesn’t move.</p><p>With a resigned sigh, Cas rises off the bed. </p><p>Before he can second-guess himself, Dean turns over and his hand shoots out, fingers closing around Cas’ wrist. “Come over here,” he mumbles, then lets go of Cas and lies flat on his back.</p><p>The mattress dips again, and Cas — wearing the combination of boxers and a t-shirt that he eventually settled on as the most comfortable thing to wear in bed — slots himself against Dean’s side, slinging an arm over his chest.</p><p>Dean lies still, counting Cas’ breaths against his neck. When he’s sure Cas is asleep, Dean rolls to face him and pulls him closer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's it for Chapter 1!</p><p>Next week: Canonverse week. Dean, Sam, Cas and Jack find themselves in an enormous mansion owned by John Winchester, CEO of HunterCorp. Billie reveals some key information. Dean tries to remind himself that he's supposed to be fighting with Cas.</p><p>In two weeks: Endverse week. Dean has an emotional confrontation with Sam. An opportunity for a hunt presents itself. Cas helps Dean realize there are things in this new world he can let himself enjoy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome back! </p><p>This week, we're checking in with the Canonverse boys and their adventures at HunterCorp. Their story will eventually converge with the Endverse storyline, but we're not there yet. Also, this chapter provides some answers as to how everybody ended up in the wrong universe in the first place. </p><p>Just to let you know, the homophobia/internalized homophobia tags come into play in this chapter. There is a conversation where both are heavily implied, but no overt slurs are used.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Dean? Dean!”</p><p>At the frantic note in Cas’ voice, Dean wakes instantly and bolts upright. He clutches at his head, dizzy from sitting up too fast. He’s too fucking old for this.</p><p>“Cas?” he tries, his voice low and raspy. He clears his throat and feels around to his left for his bedside table, where his colt is stashed. “Cas!”</p><p>When he doesn’t find either the table or the colt, he squints. It’s really goddamn bright in the room. Why the hell is it so bright? His room doesn’t even have windows.</p><p>The door slams open and Cas stands there, his hair a freaking mess, his trench coat lopsided. “There you are,” he rumbles, sagging with relief. He walks into the room, followed by Jack, who’s looking around with his default expression of cheerful curiosity.</p><p>“Hello, Dean,” Jack says, grinning and giving him a little wave. “This is a great house, don’t you think?”</p><p>Frowning, Dean looks around, and now that his eyes have adjusted to the bright sunlight streaming in through the window, yeah, he can tell this is definitely not his room at the bunker.</p><p>He’s in a king-size bed covered in cream-colored sheets that might as well be clouds for how soft and fluffy they are. (Fuck. Did he really just think that? Whatever this place is, it better have coffee.)</p><p>Light, transparent curtains cover what looks to be an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling glass. The desk at the other side of the room is made of dark, polished wood and the walls are painted a warm shade of red. Opposite the windows, there’s a walk-in closet with rows upon rows of dress shirts, jackets, sweaters, slacks and gleaming leather dress shoes.</p><p>“OK. Where the<em> fuck </em> are we?”</p><p>“Dean.” The sound of disapproval in Cas’ voice has Dean turning to face him. “You know how I feel about cursing in front of Jack.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Jack says, smiling as he strolls into the closet and starts opening drawers. “I don’t mind.”</p><p>“Really, Cas? You think <em> this </em> is the time for a lecture about cursing?” Dean gestures around at the room in general. “I went to sleep in the bunker last night. I wake up, and I’m in Barbie’s freaking Dreamhouse. I mean, if I hadn’t stabbed Zachariah myself, I’d say this fuckery—” At the sight of Cas’ death glare, he breaks off and runs a hand over his face in exasperation. “Alright, fine. Where the <em> H-E-double-hockey-sticks </em>are we?”</p><p>Cas rolls his eyes in response to Dean’s sass, but says, “I’m not certain. I was in my room and suddenly lost consciousness. When I came to, I found myself in a bedroom on the ground floor of this house.”</p><p>“I woke up in a bathroom,” Jack calls from inside the closet, where he’s studying a tie rack with a completely over-the-top amount of interest.</p><p>That's when something occurs to Dean. “Wait, where’s Sam?” he asks urgently. "Is he here too?”</p><p>As if on cue, Sam’s voice sounds from just beyond the room. “Dean, is that you? Check this out!”</p><p>Cas raises an eyebrow at Dean as if to say, “See? It’s possible to express surprise at this confusing situation without resorting to crudeness.”</p><p>Dean rolls his eyes and swings his legs out of bed, moaning involuntarily when his feet sink into the ridiculously soft carpet. Ignoring Cas’ eyebrow and also Jack, who’s still rifling through the closet, he stalks into the next room to find Sam in something like a small living area with comfortable couches, gleaming end tables and the biggest TV Dean’s ever seen. He’s just about to geek out over it when he notices that Sam is completely slack-jacked, staring at something on the wall.</p><p>It’s a painting of John Winchester.</p><p>Except this isn’t his dad as Dean’s ever seen him before. He’s wearing a carefully tailored black suit, and a purple fucking pocket square of all things. His hair and beard are trimmed close and neat, and he’s depicted with his hand on a globe, looking off into the far distance. In the background of the painting is a skyscraper, topped with a giant logo of a pentagram surrounded by a circle of flame. A small plaque embedded in the bottom of the picture frame identifies the painting’s subject as “John Winchester, CEO of HunterCorp.”</p><p>Sam recovers first. “HunterCorp. You know what that means, right?”</p><p>“What?” Dean asks distractedly. He's still busy wrapping his head around the damn painting.</p><p>“You don’t remember? The other you and me who showed up at the bunker a couple months back? They said they worked for HunterCorp.”</p><p>“Shit, you’re right,” he says, just in time for Cas to come strolling into the room and give an exasperated huff at Dean’s persistent inability to keep it clean around the kid. “But Chuck destroyed their world. That’s why they ended up with us in the first place.”</p><p>“Yeah, which means it worked.” Sam grins, and Dean realizes he’s right.</p><p>The key to defeating Chuck turned out to be a spell, performed by Billie and channeled through Jack, that restored all the parallel universes Chuck destroyed and dispersed his essence across each of them. It was a pretty neat solution, all things considered. They couldn’t kill God because it would upset the cosmic balance, but scattering his power all over so he couldn’t do anything with it — well, that was a different story.</p><p>After they performed the spell, Billie assured them it had worked, but now they were seeing the proof with their own eyes.</p><p>“Aftershocks,” Dean realizes suddenly. “Billie said there might be aftershocks.”</p><p>Cas nods thoughtfully. “I agree. Our apparent presence in an alternate universe is probably an aftereffect of the spell.”</p><p>“Peachy,” Dean grumbles, then hollers at the top of his lungs: “Billie!”</p><p>When nothing happens, Sam frowns at him. “You’re awfully loud for someone who’s gotta be nursing one hell of a hangover.”</p><p>“What’re you talking about? I feel fine.” Which is weird, he suddenly realizes, because he finished off most of a bottle of whiskey by himself last night. There was a very good reason for it too, and that’s when he remembers he’s supposed to be mad at Cas.</p><p>He was actually in a really good mood after the whole spell thing — it’s not every day you knock God himself off the board. But that night, Cas showed up at Dean's room with a slightly shamefaced look. He explained that he made a deal with The Empty he never told Dean about, but apparently it was all fine, because Jack and Billie had helped him renegotiate, and he didn’t have to go there now. Not until the next time he died anyway, whenever that was going to be.</p><p>Of course, Dean lost his shit at that. Cas’ constant lone-wolf, self-sacrificial suicide missions were getting extremely old, and he was just so tired of it all. It was one thing for Cas to run off at every opportunity instead of staying at the bunker, with his family, where he belonged. But it was a whole new level of hurt, knowing Cas had made a deal that would take him out of their lives permanently, probably sooner rather than later, and he hadn’t so much as thought to share the news.</p><p>They ended up yelling at each other at the top of their lungs. Sam came by with a half-hearted attempt to smooth things over, but eventually, he just left them to it. When Dean got so angry he couldn’t form coherent sentences anymore, he figured it was time to kick Cas out and curl up around a bottle. So he did.</p><p>Vaguely, he remembers Sam coming in at some point to take away the rest of the booze and tuck him into bed. He was drunk enough that it didn’t take more than a small shove to make him keel over onto his pillow.</p><p>And now, here he is, without so much as a headache to remember the whole thing by. “I feel fine,” he says again. “You’re right, that’s weird.”</p><p>“Perks of a purification spell,” a honey-smooth voice says from the corner of the room. Billie is standing by the doorway that leads into the rest of the house, looking them up and down coolly. “You called?”</p><p>Before Dean can even start on how this kind of thing was <em> not </em> what it said on the label when Billie talked them into doing the spell, Jack bursts out of the bedroom, a big smile on his face, and folds Billie into a tight hug. A solid sixty percent of Dean’s anger evaporates when he sees Billie’s mouth tick up in a reluctant smile. Even Death herself can’t resist the kid.</p><p>With Dean momentarily distracted, Sam picks up the slack. “What do you mean, ‘perks of a purification spell’?”</p><p>Billie extricates herself from Jack’s octopus grip and adjusts her leather jacket, instantly regaining her poise.</p><p>“I mean,” Billie says, eyeing them all in turn, “that there was a purification component to the spell we used against Chuck. I’m sure you’ve realized this whole clusterfuck we find ourselves in is one of the aftereffects I mentioned.”</p><p>Dean shoots a pointed look at Cas that very clearly says, “So what, <em> she’s </em> allowed to curse in front of Jack?” In response, he gets a glare that just as clearly means, “Yes, Dean. She is literally Death. I’m not in charge of her.”</p><p>Sam eyes them both like they’re two fries short of a Happy Meal. “Anyway,” he says, drawing out his vowels. “Purification?”</p><p>“Yes,” Billie agrees. “The spell was designed to send a contaminant, in this case Chuck, through a specially designed gateway and disperse it into the ether. It appears the residual energy left over from the spell formed another gateway and sent you through. Anything the spell perceives as contamination — say, a neurotoxin like alcohol — would have been removed as you passed through.”</p><p>“I don’t understand,” Cas says, frowning. “How did all four of us pass through at the same time if we were not in the same place?”</p><p>“You were all present when the spell was performed.” Billie crosses her arms with an air of resignation, like she may as well settle in if she’s going to be teaching the kids a thing or two. “The residual energy clings to you all. And, apparently, it’s sufficiently powerful that it affected other versions of you in alternate universes as well.”</p><p>“OK, now wait just a damn second.” Dean crosses his arms to mirror Billie, because never let it be said that anyone else can one-up him on attitude, Death or not. “Are you saying all the other Sams and Deans and…” He gestures around at the rest of the room. “Cas’s and Jacks, they were all zapped into different universes too?”</p><p>Billie just nods curtly, not impressed with Dean for stealing her arm-crossing thunder.</p><p>“So some other Dean is driving my Baby and sleeping on my memory foam?”</p><p>Sam snorts. “It’s still you, man. Baby and your memory foam’ll be just fine.”</p><p>“No, listen.” Dean points a threatening finger at Sam for emphasis. “So maybe the guy can drive like I do, but what if he has, I don’t know, a big gut? You know how I eat. It’s a damn miracle I’m not three hundred pounds. My memory foam’ll be all screwed up because now it remembers some stranger who’s walking around with my face on.”</p><p>“More to the point,” Cas pipes up, and Dean glares at him, because he wasn’t done. “How do we get back?”</p><p>Dean silently admits that’s actually a good question.</p><p>“I can take you,” Billie says, completely matter-of-fact, like inter-dimensional travel is all in a day’s work for her. Which, to be honest, it probably is.</p><p>“Alright, do it.” Dean closes his eyes, waiting for whatever the hell’s about to happen, but when nothing does, he opens them again, squinting at the others. “What?”</p><p>“Dude, we’re in an alternate universe!” Sam bursts out, and Dean knows trouble when he sees it, especially when it comes in the form of<em> this </em> much nerdy excitement. “And for once, it’s not the kind where everything’s trying to kill us. I mean, we’re already here, right? Let’s at least spend a couple of days, look around.”</p><p>Billie eyes Sam, unimpressed as always. “I’m not a taxi service you can just order for later, you know. Death, here. Kinda busy.”</p><p>Jack walks back over to her and hits her with the puppy-dog eyes. “Please, Billie? I’m very interested in looking around too.”</p><p>When Dean sees Cas and Billie making identical indulgent faces at the kid, he knows he’s lost the battle.</p><p>“Fine,” he grumbles. “But <em> I’m </em>not going anywhere. I’ll be right here, watching whatever’s on this ginormous TV.”</p><p>“Sam? Dean?” A breathless voice cuts through the room, and a second later, Garth strolls in, wearing a headset and clutching a clipboard. “You’re about to miss the nine a.m. meeting, fellas. You know how the boss feels about that. Come on now.” He looks up from his clipboard and takes in Dean’s bedhead and boxers. “Better get dressed first, I guess.”</p><p>***  </p><p>Dean’s still trying to digest the news that Garth is apparently his and Sam’s personal assistant. Which is one of the reasons why it’s taking him so long to pick out something to wear.</p><p>The other reason is that these clothes are fucking ridiculous. There’s pocket squares — what’s with all the pocket squares in this universe? — silk ties, slacks, cashmere sweaters and, of all things, a tux. The only jeans he can even find are skinny jeans, and he’s not walking around in those, thank you very much. </p><p>In the end, he settles on a pair of tan slacks that could almost pass for casual, and an emerald button-down over a white undershirt. He tries not to feel self-conscious as he pulls on a couple of gleaming loafers that probably cost more than all his shoes back home put together.</p><p>When he walks back into what Garth called “the sitting room,” Garth himself is hovering and clutching his clipboard. “Oh good, you’re all set.” He grins. “Ready to face the world?”</p><p>“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Dean grunts.</p><p>“That’s good,” Garth says, sounding half distracted already. “I walked Sam and his young friend downstairs for the meeting a few minutes ago, but your, uh, other friend here said he’d wait for you.” He nods at the couch to Dean’s left, where Cas is sitting, deliberately tapping the fingers of one hand against his thigh.</p><p>Annoyed, Dean glares at him. “You could’ve gone ahead. Let’s not pretend you like hanging out with me or, you know, talking to me about stuff.”</p><p>Garth looks back and forth between them, still smiling. “So how do y’all know each other?” he asks cheerily, in an obvious effort to break the tension.</p><p>“How do…?” Dean breaks off as he realizes something. “You don’t know Cas?”</p><p>“Can’t say we’ve met. Nice to meet you, Cas.” Garth holds out his hand to Cas, who’s gotten off the couch, presumably to better tower over Dean even though he’s actually an inch or two shorter.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you too,” Cas says, completely polite, like he always is when he’s talking to someone other than Dean.</p><p>“Hang on,” Dean interrupts, confused. “You said you were my assistant. Well, mine and Sam’s. I’m guessing that means we spend a lot of time together.”</p><p>“Twelve hours a day, six days a week,” Garth nods, managing to sound not at all put out about it. “Which is why I was surprised to meet not one but two new friends of yours and Sam’s this morning. I thought I knew everyone who comes to visit here.” He jerks his head at the door and starts to walk out. “Now follow me. You know how the boss gets when you’re late for the morning meeting.”</p><p>Dean lets Garth get a head start so he can grab hold of Cas’ sleeve and lean in close. “What the hell, man?”</p><p>Cas shrugs. “It seems you and I don’t know each other in this universe. Perhaps you never sold your soul and therefore weren’t in need of angelic rescue.”</p><p>“Huh.”</p><p>Dean’s so busy trying to figure out how he feels about that, he barely pays any attention to where they’re going. He does get vague impressions of more paintings, big, airy rooms and, at one point, an actual chandelier.</p><p>Their destination is a dining room with thick Persian rugs and easily the longest table Dean’s ever seen. There’s coffee and a whole pile of pastries set up in the center, but no plates or cups, so apparently breakfast is just for decoration here. Yet another reason for Dean to hate this universe.</p><p>Sam is sitting at the end of the table closest to the door, his shoulders tight and hunched. Next to him, Jack looks vaguely confused and concerned. And looming over them at the other end of the room is…</p><p>“Dad.” Almost unconsciously, Dean squares his shoulders and straightens his spine as John Winchester’s glance falls on him. His father is wearing a suit just like in the painting, though no pocket square this time.</p><p>“Dean. How nice of you to finally join us,” John says, his cold tone of voice suggesting the exact opposite. “Guess you and your brother both decided to sleep in today. The family business not holding your interest anymore?”</p><p>“Yes… I mean, no, sir,” Dean says, and almost bites off his own tongue with surprise at his instinctive reaction. He’s in his forties, for God’s sake, and he still wants to curl up in the face of his father’s anger. At his back, Cas’ stare is practically burning holes into him.</p><p>Apparently, John notices too, because he goes, “Wanna introduce me to your friend?”</p><p>Dean hates the flush that creeps onto his face, but he can’t seem to help it. “Yeah, this is Cas. Cas, this is my dad, John Winchester.”</p><p>Cas steps forward. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, but it comes out so toneless, it’s practically an insult.</p><p>John looks Cas up and down slowly, taking his measure. Instead of returning Cas’ half-hearted pleasantries, he turns back to Dean. “This better not be what it looks like. We’ve talked about you bringing your <em> boyfriends </em> into my house,” he hisses. The way he says “boyfriends” makes it sound like they’re a particularly nasty disease.</p><p>Dean swallows down the bitter taste at the back of his throat, then glares at Sam, who has the decency to look guilty. Why couldn’t they have just gone home so he could sleep in his own bed and be angry with Cas in peace, instead of having to deal with <em>this</em> shit?</p><p>“He's not my...” Dean starts, but he can't seem to get that last word out. “We’re just friends.”</p><p>He knows Cas is looking at him, studying him, but he doesn’t look back. On top of everything else, he can’t deal with seeing Cas’ reaction to the idea that Dean could be… like that. That <em>they</em> could be like that.</p><p>Thankfully, Sam chooses that moment to take the heat off him. “Cas and Jack, like I already told you, are friends Dean and I met on a previous hunt. They’re here to learn about how we do things at HunterCorp.”</p><p>“That how it is, Dean?” John says sharply, refusing to let go of his bone.</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Dean says tonelessly. Great. Now his little brother has to fight his battles for him.</p><p>“Fine. Sit. Both of you.”</p><p>Dean pulls out a chair at the table, opposite Sam, and Cas sits down next to him, his posture even stiffer than usual.</p><p>“There’s two hunts for us to deal with this week,” John says, all business as he shuffles the pile of papers in front of him. “I want each of you taking point on one. Your friends can tag along if you vouch for them, but you’ll take another experienced hunter for backup as always. And you’re personally responsible for the safety of everyone on your team.”</p><p>Dean’s usually good at faking his way through sticky situations, but seeing his dad and then getting into <em> that </em> conversation has him off his game.</p><p>Luckily, Sam has no such issue, even though he still looks mighty pissed off. “I can promise you that Jack and Cas can hold their own,” he says. “What are the details of the hunts?”</p><p>John points a small remote at the wall behind him, and a giant screen descends from the ceiling. Another click of a button pulls up a couple of maps, and John launches into an explanation of the cases. One involves a nest of vampires terrorizing a small town in Oklahoma, the other a shapeshifter who’s leaving behind a trail of bodies in Georgia.</p><p>“The shifter case needs some on-the-ground investigation because we don’t know what face the creature’s wearing right now or where it hides out. The vamp case is a milk run. Takes nothing but a couple hands and some machetes, so I figure Dean can take point on that.”</p><p>Dean bites his lip so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was drawing blood. There it is, story of his life. Sam’s the brains, Dean’s the brawn. What else is new?</p><p>“Actually,” Cas says, voice crackling with that air of command he has when he’s seriously displeased. “I have considerable experience in hunting shapeshifters, and I work best with Dean. If it’s all the same to you, I would like to take on that case with him.”</p><p>Silence thickens in the room. Cas has had several millennia of practice in waiting people out, so John cracks first. He’s looking at Dean, but somehow, it’s clear his question is meant for Cas. “How do you spot a shifter?”</p><p>“Their retinas flare when captured on camera or when light rays cross their eyes,” Cas says, as calm as anything. “They shed their skin when they take on the appearance of a new person. Most prefer to stay in dark, underground places, such as sewers.” </p><p>John does look at Cas now, his expression inscrutable. “How do you kill ‘em?”</p><p>“A silver bullet or silver knife.” Cas meets John’s stare with ice-cold, electric blue, and Dean’s completely mesmerized. In recent years, Cas has become so human, sometimes Dean forgets he isn’t. It’s hard to believe John doesn’t at least sense it too.</p><p>Maybe he does, because for the first time Dean can remember, his father is letting a stranger get away with challenging one of his decisions.</p><p>“If you wanna get yourself killed, it’s no skin off my nose,” he rumbles.</p><p>Cas sits impassively, not acknowledging his victory, but Dean could swear he heard a mutter of “likewise” before John keeps going.</p><p>John turns his attention back to the rest of the room. “We only have two hunters who aren’t on assignment right now. Dean, you’ll be teaming with Jo Harvelle. Sam, you and young Jack here can go with Derek Young on the vamp case. You’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”</p><p>Dean’s head snaps up and he locks eyes with Sam, who looks as wrong-footed as Dean feels. Jo is alive?</p><p>***</p><p>“Your father doesn’t seem like a very nice man.”</p><p>As soon as the words are out of Jack’s mouth, Cas and Sam shoot him identical quelling glances. </p><p>That’s all Dean sees before he slumps onto the couch in the sitting room and turns on the massive TV like he should’ve been doing all along.</p><p>But Sam being Sam, he just can’t leave him be, so the other side of the couch dips under his massive frame in less than thirty seconds flat. “Dean?”</p><p>He doesn’t respond, hoping against hope it’ll derail Sam’s need to have A Talk, but his karma isn’t that good.</p><p>“If you want, we can call Billie right now and have her take us back home. No questions asked.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” He huffs. “What happened to, ‘This universe seems like so much fun, Dean. Let’s go exploring, Dean.’?”</p><p>“That was a bad idea. Let’s just go.”</p><p>After a deep breath in and another one out, Dean turns off the TV. He has no idea what he was trying to watch anyway. Over his shoulder, he calls, “Garth!”</p><p>“Coming,” Garth calls from out in the hall, where Dean watched him retreat to give them some privacy, apparently sensing the somewhat charged mood.</p><p>“Tell me what happens if Sam and I don’t go on the hunts we were talking about at the meeting.”</p><p>Garth checks his damn clipboard again. “Like the boss said, all the other staff are currently out in the field, with the exception of Derek and Jo. Unless they agree to take on the hunts by themselves, which is against company policy, at least a week’ll probably go by until someone else is able to go with them.”</p><p>Nodding, Dean looks straight at Sam. “A week. You know how many people a nest of vamps and a shifter could kill in a week?”</p><p>He’s surprised when it isn’t Sam who responds but Cas, who’s sitting with Jack on the couch in the far corner of the room. “It’s not your job to save everyone, Dean. I know you think it is, but you’re entitled to looking after yourself sometimes.”</p><p>Dean swallows heavily, a weird mix of emotions swirling in his gut — gratitude for Cas, along with anger at him, Sam, Jack and everything about this whole, fucked-up situation.</p><p>But he knows what he has to do, so there’s really only one thing to say. “You with me on this shifter hunt or not, Cas?” he asks, turning in his seat with a challenge in his eyes.</p><p>Cas smiles at him, small and warm. “Of course, Dean.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's it for this chapter! I know this one was a little on the shorter side, but starting next week, we earn that "case fic" tag, which means looong chapters. </p><p>Next week: Endverse week. Dean and Sam have an emotional confrontation. The boys try to recapture some normalcy on a hunt. Cas helps Dean see things in a new light.</p><p>In two weeks: Canonverse week. Dean finds himself face to face with an old friend he thought he'd never see again. Hunting a shifter together in the streets and sewers of Savannah changes the dynamic of Dean and Cas' relationship in unexpected ways.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This week, we're back with the Endverse gang!</p>
<p>I'm posting this a little early because I'm SO excited about the gorgeous art the very talented <a href="https://www.lizleeillustration.com">Liz Lee</a> created for this chapter!! (If you like it, go give her some love on <a href="https://lizleeships.tumblr.com">tumblr</a>!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Dean goes to sleep at the bunker, he fully expects to wake up to sunlight streaming through the curtainless windows of his cabin at Camp Chitaqua — muted by dust and grime on the panes, but somehow still too bright.</p>
<p>Instead, he wakes in blissful darkness, but with a distinct feeling that something’s missing. He’s all the way on the left side of the bed, which is unusual for him. Almost as though… shit. Cas. He was supposed to be watching out for Cas.</p>
<p>Dean darts out of the room, not even bothering to put his jeans on over his boxers. Frantically, he scans his brain for the knowledge of how to get to the infirmary. He should’ve known this would happen. He should’ve memorized the quickest way down there just in case. He should’ve…</p>
<p>“Dean!” The sound of Cas’ voice from the doorway he just passed stops him dead.</p>
<p>He backtracks and walks straight into the kitchen, where Cas is cradling a steaming mug between both hands, giving him a slightly nervous smile. “Coffee?”</p>
<p>***  </p>
<p>As the days pass, the three of them keep exploring the bunker and its surroundings. They eventually discover a huge garage filled with vintage cars. Most are in amazingly good shape, and Dean takes a couple of them for a spin.</p>
<p>Sam usually stays behind to dig through the never-ending supply of dusty old tomes. He keeps to himself a lot, and when he thinks no one’s watching, his face crumples, making him look a lot older than the thirty-one years he should be. Dean watches and worries, but he doesn’t talk about it. He might be slowly getting used to this new version of his life, but the part Sam plays in it is still tenuous at best.</p>
<p>Cas sometimes comes along on Dean’s little excursions though. He’ll crank down the window and let his arm trail out, hand rising and falling with the force of the wind. Once, when Dean pushes down the gas pedal for a sudden burst of speed, Cas actually laughs, and Dean’s throat makes a noise in response that could maybe be read as a laugh too, if you’re not picky.</p>
<p>Every night, Cas sleeps in Dean’s bed. They hold each other, but they don't talk, and they never address any of it in the light of day.</p>
<p>After three days, they start to run out of food, so they use one of the credit cards from alternate-universe Sam’s wallet to run up a huge bill at the supermarket in town. Dean is slack-jawed the whole time, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food choices, and he doesn’t even comment on Sam putting weird stuff like kale and protein powder into the cart.</p>
<p>He does have a pointless, sweary argument with Cas about what kind of cereal they should get. When Cas pretends to give in, only to sneak the cereal he wanted into the cart while Dean’s not looking, Dean feels a tingling in his fingers that he recognizes. It’s the one that makes him want to grab Cas and kiss him until his breath comes fast and ragged.</p>
<p>He doesn’t do it, of course. But he kind of wishes later that he’d had the guts.</p>
<p>That night, Cas sneaks into Dean’s room as always and slides into bed beside him, pulling the covers up over their shoulders.</p>
<p>Cas settles in with a content sigh, and Dean wants him so much, every muscle in his body aches with it.</p>
<p>The thing is, he’s not sure he remembers how to do this right. Towards the end of their relationship, every encounter was rough, almost violent, all bites and shoves and very little affection. If he ever wants to fix things between them, he needs to be sure he can do better this time.</p>
<p>Dean’s almost asleep when Cas wraps an arm around him from behind, and the words are out of his mouth before he can hold them back: “Not sure I know how to touch you anymore.”</p>
<p>Cas’ breath hitches in the darkness, and for a long time, there’s nothing but silence. Then, so quietly that Dean almost misses it, “Maybe we can try to remember together.”</p>
<p>Dean feels a feather-light kiss on the back of his neck as he falls asleep.</p>
<p>*** </p>
<p>“I found us a hunt.”</p>
<p>Sam picks up the laptop he’s been using — the one he found in his room and whose password he guessed on the first try — and hands it across the map table to Dean. </p>
<p>Dean sets down his beer, but instead of grabbing the laptop, he glares. “You what?”</p>
<p>“I found us a hunt.” Sam lowers the laptop hesitantly back onto the outline of Russia. “A series of drownings in Jackson, Wyoming. None of the victims were anywhere near water at the time.” Sam shrugs, the corners of his lips pulling up in a half-hearted attempt at a smile. “If this is our life now, we might as well do something with it.”</p>
<p>“You wanna hunt. You wanna <em>hunt</em>?” Dean can’t even put his finger on why this is such a crazy idea. Maybe it’s the fact that for years now, he’s done nothing <em>but</em> hunt, hide, run, kill, repeat. </p>
<p>Of course, that’s exactly the thing: this is what he does. He never learned much of anything else.</p>
<p>Sam’s apparently been reading Dean’s mind, because he says, “It’s what we’re good at, Dean — our version of normal. And honestly, this place is great, but I’m climbing the walls.”</p>
<p>He pauses, waiting for Dean to agree, probably, or just say anything at all. When Dean doesn’t, Sam’s frame visibly tightens, like he’s bracing himself.</p>
<p>“So here’s the thing. Lucifer might be gone, but I still feel like I can hear him in my head almost all the time, you know? He was with me for years. You don’t just walk away from that.”</p>
<p>Dean scoffs. “Yeah, sure. Sounds like you’re in great shape to be hunting.”</p>
<p>“I just…” Sam licks his lips as he frowns, which is one of his tells that he’s extremely annoyed with Dean, but trying to keep a lid on it. “I need the distraction, OK?”</p>
<p>Dean’s mind goes to the back of the bunker, where Cas has retreated to his room with some obscure lore book or other. “That’s fine for <em> you</em>, maybe. What about Cas? He’s keeping it together, but that’s without throwing a fucking hunt into the mix. Have you talked to <em> him </em> about it?”</p>
<p>“Not yet,” Sam says. He opens his mouth, but clamps it shut before he says anything. Still, Dean knows his brother isn’t the type to just swallow things down, so he figures Sam will go on the attack again as soon as he’s figured out how to come at it.</p>
<p>Sure enough, after less than a minute and two more sips of beer, Sam says, “Hey, what happened? To you and Cas?”</p>
<p>Dean thinks it’s meant to sound casual. But things between him and Sam are so far from casual, the mere attempt fuels the anger always simmering away beneath his skin. He scowls down at the illuminated outline of Brazil, tracing the flow of the Amazon with his index finger. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p>
<p>“When I… when I left,” Sam starts, leaving a slight pause to silently acknowledge the reason <em> why </em> he left. “You guys were still pretty new, but in spite of all the bad shit going down at the time, you seemed… happy. Don’t know that I’d ever seen you smile as much as you did around him.”</p>
<p>Sam brushes a long strand of hair behind his ear, triggering Dean’s Pavlovian response to grab a pair of scissors, a razor or maybe just a sharp knife. “If I’m honest, I felt a little less guilty about leaving because I knew you had Cas to help you through it.”</p>
<p>Dean’s every instinct tells him not to talk about this. It’s private, and just thinking about it opens something raw and jagged in his chest. But part of him <em> wants </em> Sam to know how badly things went wrong after he left.</p>
<p>“He tried.” The words emerge as a croak, and Dean clears his throat. “To help, I mean. I pushed him away. Things fell apart for us pretty quickly, after… after I found out what you did. He started popping pills and smoking weed, and he wasn’t really anything like he used to be anymore.” He drains the rest of his beer. Watching the last few dregs of foam swirl around the bottom of his bottle, he mumbles, “Was my fault he got that way.”</p>
<p>When Sam doesn’t say anything, Dean reluctantly looks up. Sam’s eyes are wide, full of understanding and an uncomfortable amount of other emotions. It’s almost impossible to keep looking into them.</p>
<p>“It’s not your fault, Dean,” Sam says, so low it’s almost a whisper. “It’s not your fault Croatoan got out of control. It’s not your fault I said yes to Lucifer.”</p>
<p>“Why the hell'd you do it?” The words tear and slash as they crawl up Dean’s throat. “Whatever was coming our way, no matter how bad it got, we were supposed to face it<em> together</em>.” He knows he’s yelling, but he can’t seem to stop. “You don’t just get to give up and make a deal with the devil!”</p>
<p>“You don’t think I regret it?” Sam’s voice is shakier than Dean’s, but they’re evenly matched for volume. “Every single second after that ‘yes’ was a waking nightmare. I had to watch every last awful thing he used me to do, and I can’t ever unsee that!” Sam’s voice breaks on the last word, and he takes a deep breath before he goes on. “But do you know the worst part?”</p>
<p>Dean swallows down the considerable lump forming in his throat as he shakes his head.</p>
<p>“The worst part was knowing you were out there, still fighting croats, doing the right thing, and I’d done nothing but make it even harder for you. I <em> failed </em> you.” The emotion in Sam’s eyes brims over, a single tear running down each cheek. He wipes at his face with the back of his hand, and Dean doesn’t realize he’s crying too until a dry, aching sob tears its way out of his throat.</p>
<p>They get up at the same time, rounding the map table and falling into each other’s arms. Dean grips his brother’s jacket with both hands, holding on to it for dear life.</p>
<p>When they finally break apart, Dean puts a hand on each of Sam’s shoulders and meets his brother’s bloodshot eyes.</p>
<p>“OK. Let’s go hunt.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>If anything, going on a hunt makes this completely bizarre situation feel even more bizarre.</p>
<p>Heading down the open road in his Baby, with Sam by his side and Cas in the back seat, stopping for greasy diner food and checking into a seedy motel — the whole package feels like Dean’s been grabbed by the collar and yanked back to a simpler time in his life.</p>
<p>The motel they’re staying at doesn’t have anything bigger than doubles, so Sam gets his own room, and Dean doesn’t argue. He’s gotten used to it being just him and Cas over the years, and making Cas the third wheel doesn’t seem as natural now as it once might have. Still, Dean’ll be damned if he admits he’s also getting used to sharing a bed again, so he books them a room with two queens.</p>
<p>After they check in, it’s only the early afternoon, and they decide to interview the family of one of the victims before dinner.</p>
<p>Interviews mean suits, of course, and Dean pointedly faces the other way as Cas changes into his.</p>
<p>All of which is well and good until Cas says, “No need to be shy. I’m decent,” and Dean turns to see Cas in a suit for the first time in years. It’s one of the ones from Dean’s room back at the bunker, a dark blue instead of black and a little wide in the shoulders. Cas picked out a navy-blue tie to match it too.</p>
<p>Dean’s not sure how he didn’t notice this before, but Cas looks like he shaved this morning. He still has a bit of five o’clock shadow, but it’s nothing like the long, shaggy stubble Dean’s gotten used to seeing on his face.</p>
<p>Except for the missing trench coat, Cas looks exactly like he did when Dean first met him.</p>
<p>For a solid ten seconds, Dean stops breathing. Cas looks at him with obvious confusion, tilting his head, and that’s it. That’s too much.</p>
<p>Dean stalks across the room and grips the back of Cas’ neck, pulling him in. Their lips collide, just a moment too late for Dean to remember that if this ever happened again, he was going to be gentle about it.</p>
<p>He tries for a do-over, taking a small step back and softening the slide of his lips. </p>
<p>Cas, who was frozen in place at being attacked with a kiss in the middle of a motel room at two in the afternoon, suddenly springs to life. With an appreciative hum, he raises his hand to the side of Dean’s face and pulls them closer again, meeting the kiss with gentle but insistent pressure.</p>
<p>Dean tries to be content with that, but the smell and feel of Cas is all around him, and it’s been so, so long. When he can’t hold out anymore, he licks at Cas’ bottom lip, asking to be let in.</p>
<p>As always, Cas gives him what he wants without hesitation. Their kiss turns open-mouthed, and Dean swallows the soft moans falling from Cas’ lips.</p>
<p>When they stop to catch their breath, Dean keeps his hand on the back of Cas’ neck and Cas leans their foreheads together, both of them reluctant to give up physical contact altogether.</p>
<p>“Hi,” Cas whispers into the space between them.</p>
<p>Dean tries to laugh, but his sheer, overwhelming relief makes it come out more like a sob. “Hey.”</p>
<p>For once, he doesn’t feel like worrying about whether this thing between them can be fixed. He’d be perfectly content to stand here, Cas' breath mingling with his, for the foreseeable future.</p>
<p>“Sam’s about to send out a search party,” Cas mutters between playful nips at Dean’s lips. “We should go work the case.”</p>
<p>At Cas’ words, the spell breaks and the real world rushes back. Dean nods, blinking, and moves away, feeling every inch of distance between them. But before he even makes it all the way out of Cas’ space, Cas catches him with a hand around his wrist.</p>
<p>“After we’re done with the interview, can we do this again?”</p>
<p>“I damn well hope so,” Dean says, and turns to walk out the door so he can hide the small smile on his face.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>They end up interviewing the family members of not one, but two of the victims before dinner.</p>
<p>It’s not that any of them feel especially urgent about getting the case done. Instead, there’s a silent agreement that it’s kind of nice just sitting in someone’s living room, having coffee and looking at family pictures, even when the mood is dampened by grief. If anything, it’s strangely comforting to be back in a place where death means something.</p>
<p>It turns out both victims were found inside their homes with water in their lungs, and both had gone swimming in String Lake at Grand Teton National Park the day they died.</p>
<p>For dinner, the three of them get pizza delivered to the motel. Sam apparently has grand plans to research the history of the lake, which is the single worst way to celebrate a new lease on life that Dean’s ever heard of.</p>
<p>Cas seems to feel the same, because he eyes Dean meaningfully and says, “It’s pretty disturbing that we all saw a cowboy-themed bar driving into town and Dean hasn’t suggested going there yet.”</p>
<p>And yeah, Dean knows about the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar in Jackson, Wyoming. What serious cowboy fan doesn’t? They have saddles for bar stools, for God’s sake. It’s just hard to get back into the mindset that there are things in this world that can be enjoyed, and that <em> he </em> might be allowed to enjoy them.</p>
<p>His eyes meet Cas’, and he really likes the small, teasing sparkle in them. “Sure, whatever,” he mumbles. “I guess we could go if you really wanted to.”</p>
<p>Cas, the cheeky asshole, actually winks at him. “Please, Dean. Take me to the cowboy bar. There’s nothing I’d enjoy more.”</p>
<p>Sam’s shaking his head fondly, but he’s focused on his laptop screen, so Cas shoots Dean a smirk that very clearly says, “Well, there might be a<em> few </em> things I’d enjoy more.”</p>
<p>Dean hasn’t blushed in years and he’s not going to start again now. Still, he’s never been more grateful for the crappy, dim lighting in a cheap motel room.</p>
<p>*** </p>
<p>Jackson isn’t a big place, so they leave Baby and walk the couple of blocks to the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar in the main town square.</p>
<p>Its squat wooden front is topped by a giant neon sign of a cowboy riding a bucking bronco. The sign spins in circles, and it’s almost as tall as the rest of the building.</p>
<p>It’s so clearly a tourist trap, but Dean can’t bring himself to care.</p>
<p>Inside, the slow, easy twang of live country music sounds in his ears, along with the buzz of cheerful conversation. The place has that typical bar smell of stale beer and too many people crammed into a small space. There’s something sticky under Dean’s left boot.</p>
<p>It’s heaven.</p>
<p>On his way to the saddle stools, Dean stops short at a giant glass display case of spurs, imagining what the weight of them would feel like on his own boots; how they'd clink with every step he takes.</p>
<p>Lost in that thought, he jumps a little when Cas puts his hand on his lower back, a warm, heavy weight guiding him to the place they came here for — the bar. He lets himself be led, but shoots Cas a warning glare. This isn’t the kind of place where they can afford to be handsy; not unless they’re spoiling for a fight. For once, Dean isn’t.</p>
<p>They order a couple of beers and whiskey shots, their knees sometimes bumping together when they shift on the saddles. Every time they do, Cas gives him a sly grin or a sultry look from underneath his lashes. Cas was still learning to flirt back when they were together, but he’s gone pro since then. Dean puts the reasons for that out of his mind. He’s at a cowboy bar, his life isn’t in danger, and he’s tired of questioning everything.</p>
<p>A couple of people have moved to the small dance floor in front of the stage, laughing and swaying to a bluegrass tune that has even Dean jiggling his leg along to the rhythm. It’s fine. His leg’s hidden under the bar, so no one’s going to see.</p>
<p>No one except for Cas, who somehow manages to look amused at the sight without making Dean feel self-conscious.</p>
<p>Pretty soon, Cas’ leg is setting up its own matching beat. Their eyes meet, and Dean feels his face stretching into a grin. He’s starting to get used to the way a smile sits on his face again.</p>
<p>When the song changes a minute later, so does the mood. This tune is slow, mournful, heavy on the fiddle. Dean downs the shot he just ordered, but he can feel Cas’ eyes on him the whole time. The whiskey warmth down his throat stiffens his spine, and he looks up to meet that blue-eyed stare. Cas changed back into jeans and flannel to come here tonight; it suits him.</p>
<p>Dean forces himself to swallow down the one thing that’s uppermost in his mind right now, because it’s just too weird. It isn’t the need to punch something or drink something or even have sex with Cas. (Though he does want to do two out of those three, and maybe the third too if he drinks enough.)</p>
<p>More than anything, he wants to dance. To offer his hand to Cas and lead him to the floor, just so they can sway in time to the music.</p>
<p>Of course, angel or not, Cas always had this uncanny ability to read Dean’s mind. So Dean’s not at all surprised when Cas holds out his hand and asks, all gravelly and serious, but with that teasing sparkle in his eyes again, “May I have this dance, Dean?”</p>
<p>Dean freezes, looking at Cas’ outstretched hand. If anyone gives them a hard time, they could play it off as a joke. Just two friends who came in without dates, having some fun together. Besides… he’s spent years fighting murderous croats. He can handle a drunk homophobe or two.</p>
<p>Cas seems to take Dean’s thoughtfulness as a rejection. The cocky grin starts to slide off his face, and Dean can’t bring himself to care about anyone else anymore. He takes Cas’ hand and basks in the resulting big smile. </p>
<p>He lets himself be dragged to the dance floor. They face each other, one pair of hands clasped together and Dean’s left hand resting tentatively on Cas’ hip.</p>
<p>He’s so caught up in the moment, he doesn’t recognize the song the band is playing until Cas leans in close and starts singing, softly and off-key, right in his ear: “Well, I’ve been afraid of changing ‘cause I built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I’m getting older too.”</p>
<p>Dean doesn’t sing, but he murmurs that last line along with Cas, because they used to listen to this song sometimes when they were alone together. When it seemed safe for Dean to admit that he likes something this sappy.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>As he thinks on the lyrics, a lump builds in his throat. Cas getting older — that’s just one of the many things that were never supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be down here, slumming it with the humans, getting high and fucking his way through a depressing survivors’ camp at the end of the world. The only reason any of that happened to Cas was because he left behind everything he ever knew. For Dean. And look where it got him.</p>
<p>Dean’s vision blurs. He wrenches out of Cas’ grasp and heads for the entrance, barely remembering to pick up his jacket off his bar stool. </p>
<p>He doesn’t know what he was thinking. Even if he and Cas could put the pieces back together, that’s not what he deserves.</p>
<p>He makes it half a block until a hand lands on his shoulder. He shakes it off and keeps walking, but Cas always <em> was </em> hard to get away from. After a couple of steps, Cas catches up again, and this time, the touch on Dean’s shoulder is too insistent to keep going.</p>
<p>No force in the universe, though, could make him turn around and face Cas right now. Not when he’s working on blinking away the wetness at the corners of his eyes.</p>
<p>“Dean.” The sound of his name isn’t angry, or accusing, or even disappointed. There’s nothing but fondness and understanding there, and if anything, that’s worse.</p>
<p>His chest tightens, but he forces his voice to come out steady. “I can’t do this,” his voice says, but he’s still facing away from Cas and they’re still in the town square, so Cas probably can’t hear him. Not with human hearing.</p>
<p>With a supreme effort, Dean turns and repeats himself.</p>
<p>Cas’ eyes blaze, but he doesn’t look angry or disappointed. He looks determined; like he’s about to go into battle. “Yes, you can, and I’m going to prove it to you.”</p>
<p>Before Dean can wrap his mind around what’s happening, Cas has his long fingers wrapped around Dean’s bicep and drags him back to the motel.</p>
<p>Cas doesn’t let go of him until they get there, and Dean’s sure he’ll have finger-shaped bruises on his arm tomorrow, but he goes along without a fight.</p>
<p>When the door of their room closes behind them, Dean expects aggression. Biting and shoving and kisses that are all teeth and no tenderness.</p>
<p>Instead, Cas takes Dean’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and leads him to the edge of the nearest bed.</p>
<p>Cas turns to face him and brings one hand to Dean’s cheek, running a gentle thumb across the stubble there, soft and intimate. </p>
<p>Dean’s breath sticks in his chest, and his heartbeat speeds up.</p>
<p>“You’re a good man, Dean,” Cas says into the space between them. The scoff is barely out of Dean’s mouth when Cas cuts him off with a finger on his lips. “You<em> are</em>. Still. Always. I used to give you a hard time, but you were a good camp leader. You always did what was best for the greatest number of people, even when it was inconvenient or when it fucking hurt.”</p>
<p>Cas slides his hands down either side of Dean’s neck and over his shoulders, pushing gently at his flannel until it drops to the floor. “And no matter how bad things got between us,” Cas says, his voice low and rough, scraping at every single one of Dean’s nerve endings, “I still wanted you. I never stopped.”</p>
<p>Dean wants to squirm away, but with Cas looking at him like he’s not just desired but <em> wanted</em>, he’s helpless to do anything but exactly what Cas asks.</p>
<p>Cas leans in and kisses the place where Dean’s shoulder meets his neck, his hands trailing gentle, teasing touches all over Dean’s arms, back and chest. </p>
<p>Dean stands there and takes it.</p>
<p>His body’s given up the fight, but his brain hasn’t yet, so he mumbles, “Don’t deserve this, Cas. Not after what I did to you. Don’t deserve to have you like this.”</p>
<p>“And what is it you think you did to me?” Cas asks into the meat of Dean’s shoulder, where he’s leaving soft kisses while his thumbs rub soothing circles into Dean’s back.</p>
<p>“How you…” Dean swallows as Cas takes hold of the hem of his undershirt and pulls it over his head, leaving fluttering caresses in his wake. “How you got, after you became human. Always getting fucking high. Was my fault. ‘Cause I pushed you away.”</p>
<p>Cas’ fingers clench ever so slightly against Dean’s back. Not enough to hurt; more like a warning. Dean hisses when Cas starts trailing small nips and kisses across his now bare chest before he speaks again.</p>
<p>“I’m a grown man, Dean,” he says, shrugging out of his own flannel and toeing off his shoes. “And before that, I was a warrior of Heaven. If I gave up, it was because I made that choice. Me. Not you.” He punctuates his last few words with gentle tugs of his teeth on Dean’s earlobe, in exactly the way he knows drives Dean crazy.</p>
<p>Dean wants to move, wants to reach for Cas, so badly it’s like an itch under his skin. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to interrupt whatever Cas is doing, because it doesn’t feel like anything they’ve done in a long time, and it feels so, so <em> good</em>.</p>
<p>Cas pulls off his own shirt, then starts unbuckling Dean’s belt with slow but sure touches. Dean’s growing bulge presses against the fabric of his jeans, but Cas doesn’t palm him like he normally would. Instead, he runs a hand over Dean’s hips and into the waistband of his jeans, gently sliding the fabric down to the floor.</p>
<p>When Cas straightens, Dean swallows and tries again. “You say it wasn’t on me, but… I pushed you away. I broke up with you. If I hadn’t, maybe…”</p>
<p>“There’s no way to know what would‘ve happened, Dean,” Cas says, sounding frustratingly matter-of-fact as he unbuttons his own jeans and steps out of them, revealing the evidence that he’s enjoying himself just as much as Dean. “We might‘ve done better if we stayed together, or we might have hurt each other even worse than we did. What matters is that we’re here now.”</p>
<p>He nudges at Dean’s chest, and Dean sits down on the bed, watching helplessly as Cas bends down, takes hold of his feet and unties the laces of his boots. As soon as Dean’s feet are bare, Cas straightens up and slips out of his boxers, then sits down to straddle Dean’s lap.</p>
<p>Cas pulls him in for another kiss, just as sweet and gentle as the first one, a slow, unhurried slide even as their cocks, fully hard now, rub against each other, the friction dragging a moan up Dean’s throat.</p>
<p>“I let you walk away once,” Cas whispers as he raises his hips off Dean’s lap, then grinds down again in a slow, supple rhythm. “I’m not making that mistake again.”</p>
<p>“Cas,” Dean croaks, wrapping his arms around Cas’ back to pull him closer.</p>
<p>“I'd like to be inside you tonight. Will you let me?” Cas asks, reaching between them to slide his thumb across the tip of Dean’s dick through his boxers, where a wet spot is growing on the fabric.</p>
<p>Dean’s breath comes faster in a dizzying mix of arousal and anxiety. They don’t do this anymore, not since the early days of their relationship. Dean used to have a preference for bottoming, but after Sam took off, he couldn’t see himself ever being that vulnerable again. From then on, he was always the one who fucked Cas.</p>
<p>Maybe if he can do this, show Cas he trusts him, he can do the rest of it, too: whatever it takes to make this thing between them real by the light of day.</p>
<p>Dean nods.</p>
<p>Cas slides a hand down Dean’s back until it’s resting just above the curve of Dean’s ass. With gentle pressure there and to his chest, he urges Dean to lie back, then slides down the bed, taking Dean’s boxers with him.</p>
<p>Dean lifts his hips to help, watching blue eyes stare up at him as Cas nudges his thighs apart with a grip that’s firm, but not enough to hurt.</p>
<p>“Do you have… anything?” Dean actually sounds nervous to his own ears, which is fucking ridiculous. </p>
<p>Cas bends down over the side of the bed to dig through his duffle and comes up with a small bottle of lube and a box of condoms.</p>
<p>For most of their relationship, they barebacked it, but that was before they each fucked their way through most of Camp Chitaqua. It’s a truth that Dean is grateful neither of them chooses to speak out loud.</p>
<p>Cas uncaps the bottle with a snap, sending a spike of anticipation and arousal flaming through Dean’s blood. He’s missed this — being filled up, having someone, <em> Cas</em>, moving inside him until he’s pliant and writhing with the pleasure of it.</p>
<p>Dean gasps when Cas wraps a slick hand around his cock and starts stroking. He relaxes into the motion, concentrating on the warm glide, until he feels a tentative, teasing touch at his hole.</p>
<p>When Cas’ finger breaches him, Dean arches his back, squirming at the pleasure-pain. Cas bends down and presses little shushing noises into the skin of Dean’s throat.</p>
<p>Working with quiet efficiency, Cas slides first one, then two fingers in and out of Dean’s entrance until Dean meets him thrust for thrust, grinding his hips down with the need for <em> more</em>.</p>
<p>“Please, Cas,” he hisses, not sure he could keep his voice steady if he raised it above a whisper. “Want you inside me.”</p>
<p>“Soon, babe,” Cas murmurs into another kiss. “I wanna make sure you’re ready for me.”</p>
<p>Dean nods, and lets himself float in the simple contentment of feeling Cas’ warm, solid body above his, long fingers working him open in time with the movement of Cas’ tongue in Dean’s mouth. Lost in the sensation of it all, it takes Dean a second to notice when Cas pulls away to grab a condom and roll it down his length.</p>
<p>Dean feels the solid, thick warmth of Cas’ cock nudging at him, and he closes his eyes, begging his brain to shut off and just let him enjoy this.  </p>
<p>As he always does, Cas knows exactly what Dean needs for reassurance. He grabs hold of one of Dean’s hands, squeezing gently as he uses his other hand to line himself up and slide slowly inside.</p>
<p>Cas’ muttered curses, the gentle pressure of his hand and the feeling of being filled up — it’s all so overwhelming that a whine is out of Dean’s throat before he can force it back down.</p>
<p>“Fuck. So good, babe,” Cas murmurs between panting breaths. “You feel so good.”</p>
<p>“Missed you so much,” Dean hears himself whisper over the white noise in his ears. “Missed feeling you like this.”</p>
<p>When Cas bottoms out, he bends down, kissing Dean long and thorough. There’s nothing desperate or urgent about it — it’s affection and closeness and everything Dean was convinced they’d never have again.</p>
<p>They move together, and muscle memory kicks in, their bodies still in sync like they never walked away from each other.</p>
<p>The room fills with Cas’ heavy breathing and the soft, drawn-out moans spilling from Dean’s lips. Cas grabs hold of Dean’s hips to change the angle, and hits Dean’s sweet spot, turning moans into gasps and shouts.</p>
<p>When the rhythm of Cas’ thrusts stutters, Dean takes hold of himself. He’d usually strip himself hard and fast, but this time, it doesn’t feel right. He takes his time, twisting and pumping with slow, deliberate motions.</p>
<p>Dean’s orgasm rises up from the center of his body, obliterating every ache and doubt along the way. </p>
<p>Cas cries out for him, his muscles tensing under Dean’s fingers, and they both tumble over the edge, still moving together until Cas collapses, spent, on top of him.</p>
<p>Dean doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to break whatever spell they’ve managed to work between them, but eventually, Cas gets up to get rid of the condom, and comes back with a wet washcloth for Dean’s hand and stomach.</p>
<p>After the cleanup, Cas slides under the sheets next to him. Dean pulls him close, his thumb tracing the shell of Cas’ ear as they both drift off.</p>
<p>*** </p>
<p>A fist banging on the door of his room interrupts Dean’s pleasantly hazy post-sex sleep.</p>
<p>“Dean! Cas! C’mon. It’s almost noon, and we’ve got a case to work here.”</p>
<p>“Make him go away,” Cas grumbles into his pillow.</p>
<p>“Wish I had that power,” Dean says darkly, but his chest feels like it’ll burst with how <em> normal </em> this all feels. Waking up in bed with Cas. Sam being pissed at them for slacking off. He reaches over and ruffles Cas’ hair.</p>
<p>Cas turns his face fully into his pillow and blindly swats at the side of Dean’s head.</p>
<p>Feeling pretty damn fond, Dean rolls over and plants a kiss right in the middle of Cas’ messy hair.</p>
<p>After another minute of enjoying Sam’s increasingly annoyed huffs outside, Dean gets up and pulls Cas with him. They get dressed, Cas muttering a string of curses as he hops on one leg to try to get into his jeans.</p>
<p>Dean kisses him on his way out the door, which turns out to be a pretty effective way to stop the cursing.</p>
<p>Outside, Sam’s leaning against the passenger door of the Impala, looking smug. Dean used to fear that look because it generally meant he was about to get a lecture, but he’s too happy to care about it now.</p>
<p>“Alright, nerd, spit it out,” he says around a grin. “How was the study session?”</p>
<p>“I’m not telling you until you get me lunch. Breakfast, in your case. You owe me after sleeping in until noon and making me do all the research by myself.”</p>
<p>Dean shrugs. “Hey, you could’ve come with us.”</p>
<p>Sam raises a brow in an “oh, really?” look and Dean, caught, shrugs. “Fine. Not like I’d say no to some food.”</p>
<p>As Cas strolls up from behind, Dean pulls an arm around his neck and plants a kiss on the side of his forehead. “Thanks, by the way, for letting us have some quality time.” He grins again and makes it extra lewd, just for Sam.</p>
<p>Sam groans and Cas shoves Dean off, but both their lips are twitching as they get in the Impala.</p>
<p>Contrary to what he said earlier, Sam doesn’t actually wait until they get to a lunch place to share what he found out. Dean knows his little brother’s enjoying this just as much as he is — doing research again, interviewing people, working a case. It’s hard to stay mad at each other for long.</p>
<p>“So it turns out a young woman, Amy Richards, drowned in the lake a couple of weeks ago,” Sam says as he thumbs through his phone, probably pulling up all the news articles he bookmarked last night. “Her husband was out kayaking with her. Said it was an accident, but a couple days later, he walked into the sheriff’s station and confessed to killing her.”</p>
<p>“Was he locked up?” Dean asks, as he catches Cas’ eye in the rearview mirror and gets rewarded with a small smile.</p>
<p>“Yeah, he’s in custody pending trial. Still, I doubt he’d get the death penalty for killing his wife in a fit of anger, so I can see why she’d go vengeful. She’s dead, he’s not.”</p>
<p>“Makes sense,” Cas says, nodding thoughtfully. “We should go to the coroner’s office and see if we can get a look at the body.”</p>
<p>Sam huffs. “Already went there while you guys slept it off. Whatever <em> it </em> is, and no,” he adds, staring pointedly at Dean, “I don’t actually wanna know. Anyway, Amy was cremated weeks ago.”</p>
<p>“Huh. So what makes you think she’s our vengeful spirit?” Dean asks.</p>
<p>“The weird drownings started right after she died. And there was something the coroner told me, actually. Apparently, Amy had a rare congenital disease that one of the doctors at St. John’s Medical Center is studying. He got permission from the family to draw some of her blood and keep it in his lab.”</p>
<p>The car is dead silent for several seconds.</p>
<p>“Well, shit,” Cas says from the backseat.</p>
<p>Sam nods grimly. “Pretty much.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>There’s not really ever a good time to break into a hospital. Someone’s always manning the security cameras, and there’s nurses and doctors on duty around the clock.</p>
<p>The research labs are in a separate annex in back of the main building, which makes things easier, but they’re accessed through a door that can only be opened with a hospital ID badge, which makes things harder.</p>
<p>Luckily, even though Dean’s lock-picking skills aren't useful here, his flirting skills are. He walks in through the hospital’s front entrance and down the corridors on the ground floor, passing sandwich shops and doctor’s offices. Sam follows at a distance, waiting for Dean to make his move.</p>
<p>When a young blonde woman in scrubs gives him a flirtatious smile as she passes, and Dean notices how her ID is clipped haphazardly to the pocket of her scrubs, he stops her — at an angle where her back faces the corridor. His flirting is rusty, but she seems more interested in checking him out than in his half-hearted attempts at making conversation.</p>
<p>He keeps her sufficiently distracted that she doesn’t notice when Sam passes them. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can just barely see Sam’s hand dart out to unclip the woman’s ID and pocket it.</p>
<p>The woman gives Dean her number, and he promises to give her a call soon. He’s surprised to find, after all the shit he’s done, telling that lie can still give him a stab of regret. He'd thought lying to women about his feelings was <em> one </em> thing he wouldn’t have to do anymore in this new version of his life.</p>
<p>Not for the first time working this case, Dean wonders whether this idea of Sam’s to go hunting was really the best call for any of them.</p>
<p>Most of all, for Cas. Dean knows Cas came along because he was scared to stay alone at the bunker, even though Dean hid all those pain meds and never told Cas where. But Cas is worried that if he’s left by himself, he’ll go looking for them, or just go out and buy more.</p>
<p>Which is also why Cas isn’t with them right now. He doesn’t trust himself in a place where it would be so easy to snatch a pill off a passing nurse’s cart.</p>
<p>Instead, Cas has been sitting just beyond the perimeter fence of the hospital, watching the entrance to the lab annex and scoping out what kind of security they might encounter later.</p>
<p>When Dean and Sam get outside, Cas is in the back seat of the Impala, reading a dog-eared paperback of Hermann Hesse’s<em> Siddhartha </em> they found in the bunker’s library. Cas’ choice of reading matter has been a sore subject for Dean these past couple of days. He may not know much about literature — other than the stuff he enjoys, mostly Vonnegut — but he knows that <em> Siddhartha </em> is a hippie classic. It’s a bit too forceful of a reminder that, not too long ago, Cas was trying to escape his problems by means of weed and free love.</p>
<p>Dean wants to believe, especially after last night, that Cas isn’t in that place anymore, but it hits him at odd moments that their broken parts can’t be fixed with sex alone.</p>
<p>Basically, he’s <em> still </em>waiting for the other shoe to drop.</p>
<p>“Got it,” Dean says, holding up the ID badge and forcing a grin. </p>
<p>Cas looks up, eyes distant and glassy.</p>
<p>Dean swallows down a lump of fear. Cas wouldn’t have. He’s probably just out of it because he’s been looking at tiny print on a yellowed page for too long.</p>
<p>Cas blinks and his eyes clear. “That’s good,” he says. A powerful wave of relief surges through Dean’s veins. He grabs onto the Impala’s roof for support, just in case. Next to him, Sam folds his gangly limbs into the car.</p>
<p>Dean takes a deep breath so his moment of doubt doesn’t show on his face. He bends down to look through the rear passenger-side window. “Find out anything at the annex?” Dean asks, and Sam turns around in his seat, looking expectantly at Cas, who shrugs.</p>
<p>“It’s pretty quiet back there. I only saw a few people go in and out. If we go in after dark and stay in the blind spot of the perimeter cameras, we should be fine.”</p>
<p>“You see where the cameras are?” Sam asks, sipping at the green smoothie thing he got from some stall on their way out of the hospital. </p>
<p>Dean pulls a disgusted grimace, because he can, and enjoys the bitchface he gets in return.</p>
<p>Cas nods, counting off on his fingers. “One right by the front entrance, but that shouldn’t be a problem if we wear lab coats and use a key card to get in. The hospital’s big enough that the security people won’t know every single staff member’s face.”</p>
<p>It’s a good thing Sam had the foresight to make them stop by a uniform store earlier today and grab some lab coats. Not that Dean would ever tell him so out loud.</p>
<p>“There’s another one by the loading dock, but if we approach the entrance from the other end of the building, we should be fine. As for the cameras on the inside, we’ll just have to look like we belong and get in and out as quickly as we can.”</p>
<p>Dean scans through the plan in his head, looking for flaws. “Do we know which lab the blood sample would be kept in?”</p>
<p>“Well, the doctor’s name is Hamley.” Sam inclines his head to the side and does a sort of half-shrug. “If we can find his lab, the blood sample should be in there. It’s easy enough.”</p>
<p>Dean and Cas give him twin glares, because this is a hell of a time to jinx their luck.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>It is, in fact, easy to find the right lab.</p>
<p>The ID gets them in without an issue, and it’s after nine p.m., so the front desk isn’t manned. Doctor Hamley’s lab is right on the ground floor, the fifth door on the right.</p>
<p>The lab door is protected by a keypad, but a mini screwdriver and a couple of strategically snipped wires later, they’re inside. No visible cameras point at the door, but Sam and Cas shield Dean from view on both sides while he works on the keypad, pretending to be idly chatting co-workers. It’s a bit of a stretch this late at night, but they have to work with what they’ve got.</p>
<p>When they get into the lab and open the fridge at the back, they find something like three hundred blood samples staring back at them.</p>
<p>“Well, fuck,” Dean mumbles, not exactly enjoying the idea of having to look through every single one of them until they find the one that belonged to Amy Richards.</p>
<p>When Dean breathes out, a cloud of fog forms in front of his face. Goddamn Sam’s jinx.</p>
<p>The three of them turn as one. </p>
<p>An extremely wet, extremely angry woman with long, stringy hair flickers in and out of existence in the far corner of the lab.</p>
<p>Cas drops an iron crowbar out of the sleeve of his lab coat into his hand, reminding Dean so much of when Cas still fought with an angel blade, it’s like a punch to the gut.</p>
<p>Jaw clenched, Cas strides forward and swings at the spirit. She dissipates, materializing right next to Dean a split-second later. </p>
<p>Dean reaches into the holster concealed under his own coat and pulls out his sawed-off, hitting Amy’s spirit with a salt round straight to the chest.</p>
<p>“Any way to hurry this along, Sammy?” he calls over his shoulder.</p>
<p>“They’re in alphabetical order, thank fuck,” Sam calls back as he rifles through the vials in the fridge. They rattle against each other, the sound setting Dean's teeth on edge in the anticipation-laced quiet of the lab.</p>
<p>Amy reappears, right behind Sam.</p>
<p>“Dean!” Cas calls, his voice a clear warning. </p>
<p>Dean ducks, and Cas arcs an arm over his head, hitting the spirit with the crowbar. Amy evaporates, but instantly pops up at the far side of the lab.</p>
<p>“Today, Sam!” Dean calls.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, don’t rush me!”</p>
<p>Dean stands shoulder to shoulder with Cas as they advance on Amy. Another salt round hits her in the chest just as, finally, Sam goes, “Got it.”</p>
<p>Amy flickers closer and Cas swings at her with the crowbar. It’s a direct hit, but it also takes out half a dozen glass beakers sitting on a nearby table. They fall to the floor and shatter with a racket so loud, someone’s bound to have heard.</p>
<p>“Shit. Hurry, Sam,” Cas calls, sounding angry with himself. </p>
<p>Dean reaches out and squeezes his arm in a quick, grounding touch. Cas visibly relaxes.</p>
<p>Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watches as Sam empties the blood into a beaker and adds lighter fluid from his pocket. He’s only distracted for a second, but it’s enough. Amy appears next to a metal instrument tray about ten feet away and shoves it straight at Cas. It slams into his chest, knocking him into the nearest wall. With a grunt, Cas sinks to the floor.</p>
<p>“Cas!” Dean calls, voice tight with fear and adrenaline. Sam curses as he drops his box of matches on the floor.</p>
<p>Cas doesn’t respond, but he’s conscious and blinking, trying to get his breath back.</p>
<p>Sam finally manages to strike a match and drop it into the beaker. The spirit flickers back to life right next to him, but a split-second later, her snarling face distorts in agony as she goes up in flames.</p>
<p>Legs slightly unsteady with the fading rush of the fight, Dean stumbles over to Cas, who's still slumped against the wall. Dean frames Cas’ face with his hands, guiding it up so he can check for injuries.</p>
<p>“You OK, sweetheart?” Dean’s not even ashamed the endearment slipped out, too busy being relieved when Cas nods. His eyes are clear and both pupils are the same size. No concussion. </p>
<p>Cas tries to stand, but sinks down again immediately, grimacing. “Shit. I think I cracked a rib or something.”</p>
<p>“OK,” Dean says, pushing down his internal freakout to deal with later. “We’ll take care of it. Let’s just get out of here.”</p>
<p>Which is when the door of the lab slams open, revealing an armed security guard.</p>
<p>“Hands up, right now, and tell me what the hell you think you’re doing here.”</p>
<p>The guard’s voice is shaking. His eyes and gun are fixed on Dean and Cas where they’re squatting on the floor. He hasn’t spotted Sam. </p>
<p>Sam ducks into the shadows at the far side of the lab, slinking along the wall.</p>
<p>“We work here,” Dean says, dragging up the most charming smile he can manage. “All good, just a little lab accident.” Nodding at Cas, he adds, “My colleague here got a little overeager with, you know, the science. What’d I tell you about playing God, Cas?”</p>
<p>Cas doesn’t even pretend to play along, giving Dean a death glare instead. Dean can only bullshit his way through this for so long. All he needs is to keep the guard distracted until Sam can get to him.</p>
<p>His timing impeccable as always, Sam steps out of the shadows and punches the guard in the side of the neck, going for a direct hit to the vagus nerve. The guy’s unconscious before he even hits the floor.</p>
<p>They don’t waste any more time getting out of the lab. By some miracle, no one stops them before they can make it to the Impala, even with Sam and Dean half dragging Cas so he doesn’t have to move too fast with his busted rib.</p>
<p>Cas winces when Dean lowers him into the backseat, and again when he shuffles all the way to the far side so he can stretch out.</p>
<p>“You’ll be alright, Cas,” Sam says as he slides into the driver’s seat, somehow knowing Dean wants to fuss over Cas more than he wants to drive right now. “We got painkillers in the trunk. Dean can get you some.”</p>
<p>Sam’s focused on getting the car started, so he doesn’t see the panic that crosses Cas’ face at his words. </p>
<p>Dean forces a smile and squeezes Cas’ ankle, the only part he can reach from where he’s still standing just outside the Impala’s rear door.</p>
<p>“I got you,” he mouths, and hopes Cas understands.</p>
<p>He slides into the front seat next to Sam and, as they pull away, Dean knows one thing for damn sure: he’s never letting Cas hunt again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The slow-dancing scene in this chapter is something of an homage to one of my favorite fics, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21627415/chapters/51571978">Evangelist</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmbrancsxx0/pseuds/emmbrancsxx0">emmbrancsxx0</a>. You should definitely check it out, but prepare to ugly-cry (probably more than once).</p>
<p>Next week: Canonverse week. Dean finds himself face to face with an old friend he thought he'd never see again. Hunting a shifter in the streets and sewers of Savannah changes the dynamic of Dean and Cas' relationship in unexpected ways.</p>
<p>In two weeks: The final chapter and epilogue. Where it all comes together and we wrap up this crazy tale of inter-dimensional travel.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We're back with the Canonverse boys and their adventures at HunterCorp!</p><p>This is another chapter where John Winchester's A+ Parenting makes an appearance, so be warned that there is some internalized homophobia and homophobic behavior, including a brief mention of past violence against a minor. (Everyone will be OK in the end, I promise.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>HunterCorp employees travel to their hunts in planes.</p><p>Of course, as Sam takes care to point out when Dean pitches a fit, their alternate versions told them as much when they stopped by the bunker that time. Dean probably decided to repress that particular memory.</p><p>He figures there should be some kind of alternative. Like, a company car that could take them to Georgia from Kansas. Apparently, though, that kind of travel isn’t considered “economical” by the higher-ups at HunterCorp. At least that's what Garth says.</p><p>The only slight upside of going on this hunt is getting to wear a HunterCorp suit, because those are legitimately awesome. (They also don’t have pocket squares, so there’s that.) The suits remind Dean more than anything of a SWAT uniform: all body-hugging, moisture-wicking material, dark and slick and surprisingly comfortable, with a small HunterCorp logo on the left side of the chest. Each suit comes with an almost unlimited number of pockets and holsters where various kinds of guns or blades can fit.</p><p>Sam, ever the research addict, got his hands on a HunterCorp employee handbook, and it looks like wearing the HunterCorp suits is standard procedure whenever they’re out on a job. </p><p>(Cas doesn’t get one because he’s not an employee. Dean takes a quiet moment to mourn the loss of seeing the aerodynamic fabric cling to Cas’ thighs.)</p><p>No matter how great the suits are, though, he's having a hard time getting past the idea of hunting in clothes that broadcast to the world exactly what he’s doing. In this universe, everyone knows about monsters and HunterCorp is a household name, so there’s no need to pose as FBI agents, rangers or any of the other feds Dean’s impersonated over the past couple of decades.</p><p>Basically, between the suits and the plane ride, he's already got plenty to adjust to, and then there’s a whole other nerve-racking issue: Jo will be flying out with them. Which makes sense. But it isn’t exactly easy to wrap his head around spending hours in close quarters with someone he used to care about and never thought he’d see again. They never actually amounted to anything other than friends, but maybe they could’ve, once he got a little older and a lot less cocky. Of course, by then, he’d met Cas, and, well… no one else really measured up after that.</p><p>Cas doesn’t know about that, of course. Once or twice, Dean’s come close to telling him. First, back in Purgatory. Again after Cas said “I love you,” and all Dean could think about for days was whether Cas meant it… that way. After Cas died and came back. Purgatory again. Their relationship has been an endless, depressing string of maybes and almosts, and Dean tries to avoid thinking about it as much as possible.</p><p>He’s pretty damn busy not thinking about it right now, sitting next to Cas on a private jet that has nice upholstery and a minibar, but looks small enough that a good breeze might knock it off course.</p><p>Dean's so distracted, he doesn’t notice someone else has boarded until he hears a tired, annoyed voice right behind him. “How’d I land myself on a hunt with <em> you </em>again? Thought I was getting your better, taller half this time.”</p><p>Cas looks up from where he’s been reading something on a tablet screen — and it’s <em> still </em> weird watching Cas use technology; like watching Superman ride a bike — to face the newcomer.</p><p>Dean freezes. Usually, he’d flare up at a comment like that, but this is <em> Jo</em>. The last time he saw Jo alive, he kissed her, knowing that was the end for them. And now here she is, or a version of her, basically calling Dean a nuisance. Steeling himself, he turns in his seat to face her. Words don’t seem to want to come to him, so he jerks his chin at her, hoping it counts as a greeting.</p><p>Like Dean, Jo is wearing a HunterCorp suit. She looks mostly like he remembers, except for the lines on her face that show she’s older than she ever got to be in the other world. She’s still beautiful, and she’s got that fire in her eyes Dean always liked about her.</p><p>Jo slumps into a seat three rows behind Dean and Cas, scowling. “Not sure why the hell you wanted to go on the shifter hunt. There’s actual legwork involved. Research. Interviews. You can’t flirt your way through this one.”</p><p>Dean clenches his jaw, trying to keep his temper in check. Even though Jo’s impression isn’t based on <em> him</em>, exactly, having her dismiss him like this stings more than he likes to admit.</p><p>Cas looks Jo up and down before he says, a little coolly, “I’m the one who requested to go on this hunt. Dean is coming along as a favor to me.”</p><p>Jo returns Cas’ scrutiny with interest. “And <em>you</em> are?”</p><p>Dean cuts in before Cas has a chance to introduce himself. “This is Cas, and I do fine at research and interviews, thanks." Jo snorts and starts rooting around in her small, black travel bag, clearly done with the subject. </p><p>Cas is no help either because he’s engrossed in his tablet again, which leaves Dean to focus on nothing but the small clanking noises of the plane being prepared for takeoff.</p><p>He tries to keep breathing, but sharp panic is starting to creep in at the edges of his fragile self-control. As a last resort, he grips the armrests of his seat as tightly as possible, looking for a grounding touch that will help him forget he’s about to be the opposite of grounded.</p><p>Dean’s seriously worried he might pass out when warm, dry fingers loosen the death grip of his left hand and hold on, squeezing gently. Dean blinks, surprised to find he closed his eyes without even noticing. One look at the armrest is enough to confirm he's holding hands with someone. With… <em> Cas</em>.</p><p>Dean tries to slant his eyes at Cas as best he can without actually turning his head. Moving at all would mean admitting he’s noticed what’s going on. In the far corner of his vision, he manages to catch sight of his friend, who's still looking at his tablet, as calm as you please.</p><p>With a jolt of panic totally unrelated to flying metal deathtraps, Dean remembers that they’re not actually alone. He <em> will </em>have to turn his head to see Jo because she’s more or less directly behind him. He could cover the motion if he pretended to pick something up off the floor of the aisle, but he might lose his hold on Cas, and that doesn’t seem acceptable right now.</p><p>He shuffles and pivots just enough to catch a glimpse of her. She’s sprawled in her seat, sleeping like a baby. That’s another thing she has in common with the other Jo, who could always fall asleep anywhere at the drop of a hat.</p><p>Dean exhales his relief and stops contorting himself just as Cas says, “HunterCorp was founded in 1983, it seems.” Dean slides his eyes over to Cas’ screen, and Cas tilts the tablet a little to the side, so Dean can see a page on the HunterCorp website, titled “Our History.”</p><p>“1983,” Dean repeats, and swallows. “That’s the year… the year my mom died. The first time, I mean.” He bites his lip, annoyed with himself. He apologized for the way he treated Cas after what happened to Mary, but it’s still a subject they usually avoid at all costs.</p><p>“Yes,” Cas agrees, his voice carefully even. “That seems to have been the precipitating event for the founding of HunterCorp as well.” Cas points at a timeline on the page, his finger skating over some of the earliest dates. “Your father previously owned a government-contracting business that made combat gear for the military. As far as I can tell, the existence of monsters has never been a secret in this universe, but your father wasn’t involved in the business of hunting them until…” Cas breaks off and looks up at Dean, something uncertain and cautious in his eyes. </p><p>Dean gives him a small smile. “It’s OK. You can say it.”</p><p>Cas nods, but hesitates before he continues. “Until a demon killed your mother. I’m uncertain of whether it was the same one. There aren’t a lot of details on the website about it, understandably.”</p><p>The plane jolts into motion, and Dean grips Cas’ hand so hard it should hurt, but Cas doesn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at him. Perks of being an angel, probably, even one with fading grace. </p><p>Dean still vaguely remembers that he’s angry with Cas, but he’s content to call a truce for now, and take a friend’s comfort when it’s freely offered. </p><p>The plane rolls onto the runway and speeds up, as does Dean’s breathing, until Cas’ low, rumbling tones start up again. “At that point, your father pivoted the business to start making gear for hunters. He brought on some consultants — hunters, I assume — who helped him design HunterCorp’s products, and he eventually hired them to do the actual hunts under the company umbrella as well. It seems your father is quite a shrewd businessman.”</p><p>Dean snorts. “Yeah, always thought he could’ve amounted to something if he’d sobered up long enough to get around to it.”</p><p>Cas gives his hand a small squeeze. “You don’t talk about him much,” he says quietly. “After meeting him, I think I understand why.”</p><p>Dean nods, looking down at his lap and at their hands, intertwined on the armrest. “He tried, you know, to be a good dad and raise us right. I’m just not sure he always tried hard enough. And there were… disagreements between us that I still don’t like to think about too hard.”</p><p>“Like the one about your sexuality,” Cas says, matter-of-fact, like he hasn’t just opened a Pandora’s box Dean prefers to lock with at least three separate sets of keys.</p><p>Dean clears his throat. “Really don’t wanna talk about that stuff, Cas.” His cheeks are heating up. He's getting that anxious, itchy feeling under his skin that happens every time someone suggests he might not be entirely straight.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas says sincerely. “We don’t have to discuss it.”</p><p>The plane lurches, and Dean lets out an undignified, high-pitched yelp. His hand, which had been loosening under the reassuring warmth of Cas’ fingers, clenches again. His brain is staticky with panic, his lungs too big for his chest. If he's going to keep from passing out, he needs a distraction, and that's the only possible explanation for what comes out of his mouth next. “When I was sixteen, Dad caught me making out with another guy outside our motel room. He chased the guy off, punched me in the face and told me if I did that again, he’d make me leave and fend for myself.” Dean swallows heavily, the hand that isn’t holding on to Cas clawing into his own thigh. “I would’ve taken off that night out of pure spite, but…”</p><p>“Sam.” Cas says that one word like it explains everything, and it does.</p><p>“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “Sam. He was a scrappy kid, but he was twelve. I couldn’t leave him alone with Dad.”</p><p>Cas looks unsure, like he doesn’t know whether he should be asking for more than he already has. “So you… you stopped being with men that way, after?”</p><p>Dean stares back at Cas for a good long time. He doesn’t look judgmental; only curious. “No,” he says slowly. “But I got a damn sight more careful about it.”</p><p>Cas holds Dean’s gaze, something small and sad passing across the blue of his irises. “That explains why we’ve been friends for so long and I never knew you were attracted to men.”</p><p>“Guess so,” Dean shrugs, trying to look unaffected by the prolonged eye contact. “I don’t advertise it.”</p><p>They don’t talk much more after that, and Cas goes back to studying his tablet. Dean must nod off, because when he opens his eyes, they’re in Georgia.</p><p>He’s still holding hands with Cas.</p><p>*** </p><p>The Central Precinct of the Savannah Police Department is located inside a low-slung, mid-century building that’s about as far from the city’s famous Southern Gothic charm as you could possibly imagine.</p><p>It’s also down one working A/C, and even the sweat-wicking magic of a HunterCorp suit can only do so much against the tropical onslaught. Cas, completely unaffected by the heat or the drenching moisture in the air, hasn't so much as taken off his trench coat since the plane touched down.</p><p>The guy they're meeting at the precinct is Detective Walker Jones. He has one of those bland, rich-boy faces — all round lines, straight teeth and not a single thin, blond hair out of place.</p><p>Jones looks young, in his early thirties at best, but he inhabits his office, with its well-padded chair and mahogany desk, like he was born to it. Dean figures he probably was, considering how these things still work in certain parts of the South. He did notice none of the guys in the cubicles outside had a mahogany desk, or a tall, fancy plug-in A/C unit that’s keeping the room at a damn near arctic temperature. Dean shivers a little as the beads of sweat on his neck dry in the cold air.</p><p>“So y’all are here about the shifter case, I’m given to understand,” Jones says, his Southern twang starting out strong, then trailing off. It sounds like he’s trying to suppress it, with mixed success.</p><p>“Yeah. What can you tell us about the killings?” Jo asks, studying Jones and clearly no more impressed with him than Dean is. </p><p>With three of them lined up on the same side of the desk, Dean’s basically sitting elbow to elbow with both Cas and Jo, while Jones has all the room in the world to spread out.</p><p>Jones leans forward and folds his hands like the consummate professional he’s pretending to be. “Two victims so far. First one was a twenty-year-old girl, killed by her so-called best friend, it looked like. We had a witness who put the friend at the scene around the time of death.”</p><p>Jo hums. “So what, you had your case all sewn up and then it turned out the girl you thought did the killing…?”</p><p>“Was already dead, yes, ma’am,” Jones says. He looks like he’s fighting every instinct he’s got to keep from dragging his eyes down Jo’s body. “We found her on the banks of the Skidaway River two days later, and she’d been dead longer than the initial victim.”</p><p>“Still, could’ve just been a case of mistaken identity on the part of the witness,” Dean points out, and he doesn’t miss the way Jo’s head snaps over to look at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “So what really made you think it was a shifter?”</p><p>Jones reluctantly pulls his attention away from Jo. “Well, a couple days later, one of our officers walked in on a guy cutting a woman’s throat in an alley, and that same guy was found dead two streets over the same afternoon.”</p><p>“Let me guess. He’d been dead longer than the original victim, too,” Jo says, folding one of her legs over the other and jiggling her foot in obvious impatience. Her "I'd rather be out there, killing something" attitude is a bit rich, considering the crap she gave Dean earlier about being no good at interviews.</p><p>“I agree the case seems suggestive of a shapeshifter,” Cas says, nodding thoughtfully.</p><p>After a token acknowledgement of Cas, Jones turns back to Jo. “What we don’t know is whether the shifter’s taken a new skin since that second killing.”</p><p>“Stands to reason it did,” Jo says, eyeing Jones like a bug squished under the sole of her HunterCorp-issued boots. “Wouldn’t wanna get caught wearing a known dead guy’s face.”</p><p>“Are these the only deaths associated with this case?” Cas asks, and Jo nods her silent approval at the question.</p><p>“Far as we know,” Jones says. “Hard to spot that kind of thing though.”</p><p>“So we don’t know anything about the shifter’s preferences?” Dean asks. It's a legitimate question. It has nothing whatsoever to do with wanting to improve Jo’s opinion of him. “Like, whether they’d usually pick male or female skin suits? One ethnicity over another? Anything like that?”</p><p>“Well, both the skin suits we know of were white,” Jones says tentatively.</p><p>“Two victims isn't enough to establish a pattern, Dean,” Cas says.</p><p>He's probably just stating a fact, like he does sometimes. But Dean's already on edge about pretty much everything, and just like that, all his irritation with Cas comes rushing back. “Just trying to work the case here, Cas," he hisses. "You know, like I've done all my life. You got a problem with that?”</p><p>Cas glares, and Jo spreads her arms in disbelief. “You two mind postponing your lovers’ spat till you’re not on company time?”</p><p>“Cas and I are not like that,” Dean spits out before he can stop himself. For a small eternity, Jo looks back at him, not blinking. Dean doesn’t look away; partly because he doesn’t want to give Jo the satisfaction, and partly because he’s not exactly eager to see Cas’ reaction to that statement. Or to remind himself that Jones is still in the room too.</p><p>“Sure, dude,” Jo says eventually, waving a dismissive hand at him before she turns back to Jones. “I agree with our colleague here about patterns and all, but is there<em> anything </em>the victims have in common?”</p><p>“There is, ma’am,” Jones answers, obviously happy the conversation is back on firmer ground. “Both were regulars at a restaurant on River Street.”</p><p>Dean throws back his head with relief. “A place that serves food. <em> Finally </em> some good news.”</p><p>*** </p><p>“All I’m saying is, I don’t trust a place where they have a whole section on the menu called ‘Greens,’” Dean grumbles, fidgeting in his chair. They may be undercover to scope out Vic's on the River, but company policy dictates he still has to keep his HunterCorp suit on under his clothes, for extra protection. So he’s wearing a full-body uniform<em> and </em> a monkey suit, because apparently, this place has a dress code. </p><p>Cas frowns at him from across the ridiculously small table. “Dean, stop squirming,” he growls. “Every time you do, the tablecloth moves. If you’re not careful, you’ll pull the entire table setting onto the floor and cause a scene. Which would be extremely inconvenient, considering we’re trying not to call attention to ourselves.”</p><p>Dean glares at Cas, and then at Jo for good measure, because she’s sitting at the bar, all the way at the other end of the restaurant, a smug grin on her face and a tumbler of whiskey in her hand.</p><p>“I don’t see why<em> I </em> couldn’t keep watch at the bar,” Dean says, sounding like a whiny child even to himself. “<em>You </em>could’ve sat with her at these damn, tiny tables and pretended to be on a date or something. Much less noticeable than two dudes, especially in the South.”</p><p>They had all agreed it made the most strategic sense to look out for potential shifter candidates from different points throughout the restaurant. The front patio along River Street was closed for repaving, so that left two locations: the bar, and the tables — which were sufficiently couple-y that it would’ve been strange for one of them to sit alone.</p><p>“I think you’ll find, actually, that Savannah is well known for being an LGBT-friendly destination,” Cas says primly as he studies the menu, like he’s actually planning to eat or something. “In any case, Jo didn’t seem very eager to pose as either your date or mine, so I thought the best course of action was for the two of us to share a table.”</p><p>Dean shakes his head in defeat and, determined to get out of this conversation, looks at the view outside the tall arch window next to their table.</p><p>River Street is paved with crooked cobblestones and sits, as the name suggests, right by the Savannah River. It’s a Saturday night, and the sidewalks are crowded with groups of people clutching red Solo cups and plastic cocktail glasses with crazy straws. Dean watches more than one group of half-drunk twenty-somethings stumble over the disused streetcar tracks in the middle of the road.</p><p>He’s torn out of his determined contemplation of anything other than Cas by the arrival of their waiter, which also reminds him that he never made it past the “Greens” section on the menu. The waiter raises an impatient eyebrow at Dean, so he orders “whatever you’ve got on tap” and the first thing that catches his eye on the list of mains, which is meatloaf — $18 meatloaf, Jesus.</p><p>“I’m fairly certain the company will cover the cost of the food,” Cas says after the waiter’s gone, doing that freaky mind-reading thing he does sometimes.</p><p>“It’s not <em>about</em> that, Cas. It's the principle of the thing,” Dean says, tossing a flirtatious smile at the young woman who stops by to bring his beer, mostly out of habit. Cas’ expression, which until now had been set to “mild annoyance,” escalates to “definite exasperation.”</p><p>“We’re not here to flirt with the waitress, Dean,” he says. To underline his point, he pulls out his phone and turns on the camera function, panning across the room under the pretense of taking a video of the restaurant’s interior. Really, he’s checking for the telltale flare of a shifter’s eye through the camera lens.</p><p>It’s not too far-fetched that someone would want to record the space. Too-fancy tablecloths aside, Vic’s is airy and inviting with its high ceilings, walnut-stained wooden bar, white walls and tall windows. It’s not Dean's scene, but he can admit it’s nice.</p><p>Not that the atmosphere is doing much right now for his temper, which is hovering dangerously close to boiling point again. “Maybe I wouldn’t flirt with strangers if I had better company,” he hisses.</p><p>Cas tucks away his phone and glares at Dean, blue eyes glinting dangerously. “Maybe I’d be better company if you made me feel more welcome.”</p><p>“What the <em> hell </em> are you talking about?” Dean demands, barely keeping his voice down. “The whole issue is that you’re always going off on stupid missions, making stupid deals, instead of staying at the bunker, where you belong.”</p><p>Cas’ eyes narrow and he leans forward, but Jo saunters up to their table before he can say anything. She’s wearing long dress pants and a long-sleeved shirt to cover her own HunterCorp uniform.</p><p>“Hey, fellas.” She smirks at each of them in turn. “Having a nice date?”</p><p>“Shut up,” Dean grumbles, as Cas grits out, “No.”</p><p>“Well,” Jo says, looking endlessly amused. “I’ve scanned the whole place three times now, and I think the bartender’s starting to think I’m a nut job or some kind of social media guru, which amounts to the same thing. I’ll walk the perimeter for a while, see if anything catches my eye.”</p><p>Cas frowns. “My understanding is that it’s company policy not to be alone in any location where a monster might engage.” Because of course he read the employee handbook too, the nerd.</p><p>“I can handle myself a hell of a lot better than either of you two,” Jo says easily. With a pointed grin at Dean, she adds, “Especially you, pretty boy.”</p><p>Dean’s always hated when people call him that, so he has no trouble telling her to get lost.</p><p>Jo grins, clearly pleased with his reaction, and saunters out. Which leaves Dean alone with nothing but Cas and his own thoughts, which also mostly revolve around Cas.</p><p>They don’t talk, and time drags on. Cas pulls out his phone again, so Dean does too. They've each scanned the place twice without success by the time their food finally arrives.</p><p>Dean’s meatloaf is actually pretty damn good — not $18 good, but close enough — and he barely even notices the way Cas is picking listlessly at whatever green thing he ended up ordering.</p><p>“Part of why I didn’t tell you about the deal is because I knew you’d react this way,” Cas says, so quietly that Dean almost misses it. “That’s how you always react. With anger.”</p><p>Dean swallows his bite of meatloaf. Instead of spearing another one with his fork, he glares across the table at Cas. “I <em> was </em> angry. I <em> am </em> angry. Because you keep doing this, this stupid, self-sacrificial bullshit, and you don’t even think to talk to me — to us, I mean, first.”</p><p>“Oh, stop dragging Sam into this. He’s not the one sulking.”</p><p>Dean drops his silverware, and it falls onto his plate with a clatter that cuts through the low hum of conversation around the restaurant. He glowers at the other patrons, daring them to say something. Punching someone sounds pretty good right now, and who cares if he gets himself booted from a restaurant in an alternate universe?</p><p>No one steps up to the challenge, so he goes back to staring down Cas instead. “Fine. For some reason, this shit doesn’t bother Sam as much as it does me. But you’ve made it pretty damn clear you don’t give enough of a fuck about what <em> I </em> think to tell me things. So yeah, I drag him into it, so that maybe you'll care enough to stop gambling with your life every other minute. Because you know what? It bothers the hell outta <em>me </em> when you do. For once, can that just be enough?”</p><p>Dean didn’t actually mean to say half of that, and his voice almost cracked towards the end, so he clamps his mouth shut and bites his lip until it hurts.</p><p>He looks back out the window, trying to get his face under control. His skin feels too hot, burning with shame and some other, more complicated feeling.</p><p>“Dean.” In Cas’ mouth, Dean’s name has always been an entire sentence. This time it says, clear as day, “I’m sorry for causing you pain, but you were still wrong to behave like a jackass.”</p><p>“I need you to say it, Cas,” Dean tells the view of River Street, his voice embarrassingly shaky to his own ears. “I need you to look me in the eye and say you’re sorry, and that you’re never doing anything that stupid ever again.”</p><p>He turns to look at Cas. </p><p>The blue eyes he knows better than his own are wide and vulnerable. “Dean, I—”</p><p>“What’s up, boys?”</p><p>Dean actually flinches when Jo pops up next to his elbow like a jack-in-the-box.  </p><p>She looks back and forth between them with barely concealed glee. “Did I interrupt something?”</p><p>Dean says "No” at the same time Cas says “Yes,” which earns him an annoyed squint. This one, he doesn’t think he actually deserves. Maybe it’s just Cas’ default expression around him these days.</p><p>Jo’s lip twitches when she says, “Well, anyway, fellas, this joint is dead. No shifters inside or outside, so I say we hit the sewers. Always the best bet for finding a shifter’s lair, am I right?”</p><p>Dean grumbles, but concedes the point. They pay for their meal, then head to the rental car — a Challenger Hellcat; at least <em>some</em> things are going right on this trip — so Dean can get out of his suit and strip down to his HunterCorp gear. He and Jo each carried a few smaller, easily concealed silver daggers before, but they gear up properly now, with guns and silver bullets. Cas, of course, refuses to carry anything other than his angel blade.</p><p>Dean frowns at Jo when she straps on a shoulder holster over her long-sleeved shirt. “Feeling shy? Thought we were supposed to be in just the HunterCorp suit when there’s a chance of a fight with the things that go bump.” Because yeah, maybe Dean read a bit of the handbook too, while nobody else was looking.</p><p>Jo gives him a look of the utmost disdain. “Aside from the fact that I’m obviously not the one you’re interested in ogling…” She slides her eyes over to Cas, who immediately looks down to study his shoes. “I’m John’s favorite, so I get to bend the rules. Besides, if you did your own laundry, you’d know these suits are a bitch to clean and we’re about to go into a literal sewer.”</p><p>Dean decides not to say anything, because he doesn’t even know where to start. Instead, he trudges after Jo and Cas, rivulets of sweat running down the back of his neck in the soupy air. </p><p>The nearest unobtrusive sewer entrance is in a small alley down the block, next to an overflowing dumpster. The sewer grate is crumbling with rust, so it’s no match for Jo’s determined application of a crowbar. When it comes loose, the resulting clatter of metal on pavement is loud enough to wake the dead.</p><p>“Great work, Jo,” Dean grumbles. “There goes our element of surprise.”</p><p>Jo huffs. “You’re one to talk. Remember that time we almost got mauled by a werewolf because you fucking stepped on it?” Pitching her voice easily a whole octave higher than her normal register, she simpers, “It was dark, Jo. I couldn’t see where I was going, Jo. My pocket square got a blood stain on it, Jo.”</p><p>“Fuck off,” Dean says lightly and turns around to start climbing down the flimsy metal ladder into the sewer.</p><p>When he gets to the bottom, it's somehow even hotter and it smells like… well, a sewer, but Dean’s smelled a lot worse, unfortunately. At least there’s no smell of blood that he can detect so far.</p><p>He waits by the stairs, clicking on his flashlight to run it over a brick tunnel maybe eight feet high and five feet across. He prays it doesn’t get any smaller down the line. The floor is wet, but he’s got sturdy boots.</p><p>“This is unpleasant,” Cas says, his nose wrinkling as he drops onto the soggy ground beside Dean.</p><p>“Humanity in all its beauty, Cas,” Dean answers, grinning obnoxiously. Leftover unease from their earlier, interrupted conversation still simmers under his skin, but this isn’t the time for it. He needs to be focused on the hunt.</p><p>Any hunt holds a risk of serious injury or even death, but it’d be especially depressing if he died on a hunt in an alternate universe. He can’t leave his Baby sitting outside the bunker, abandoned, or worse, being driven by some other guy with his face on.</p><p>Cas lets out a tired huff, drops his angel blade out of the sleeve of his coat, and sets off down the tunnel. Jo’s arrived at the bottom of the ladder now and jogs along in Cas’ wake with a flashlight, her gun already drawn. Dean pulls out his own gun, clicks on his flashlight and starts moving. Something he desperately hopes is just water drips into the collar of his fancy HunterCorp suit.</p><p>After a couple of minutes of walking, they almost step into a pile of slimy, skin-colored goo.</p><p>Jo bends down to examine it. “Looks fresh,” she says, poking a finger at the lumpy mass. “Less than twenty minutes old, at a guess. The shifter’s been here recently.” She looks further down the tunnel, to where it divides into two slightly narrower openings about thirty feet away. “We should split up.”</p><p>Dean can practically hear Cas’ eye roll at the suggestion. “I don’t think that’s wise. We’re in unfamiliar territory, and more vulnerable to an attack by ourselves.”</p><p>Dean raises his flashlight to study the two tunnel entrances, then bends down to look at Jo, who’s still crouched next to the shifter goo, but has her face turned up to him, waiting for his opinion.</p><p>The beam of Dean’s flashlight hits her face, and her eyes spark golden.</p><p>“Fuck!” Dean jumps back.</p><p>Jo’s face changes from impatience to rage in the split second before she clicks off her light. She sweeps out her leg, toppling Dean onto his back. His gun and flashlight clatter to the floor, and the light sputters out.</p><p>Still trying to force breath back into his lungs as he feels around for his gun, Dean distantly registers the sound of footsteps taking off in the direction of the two tunnel openings. Without flashlights, the sewer is pitch black, and sound echoes so much down here that he can’t tell which way the shifter is running.</p><p>“Are you alright, Dean?” As Dean’s hand finally closes around his gun, a coat rustles and a warm hand cups the back of his neck. “Can you sit up?”</p><p>“Yeah. Think so,” Dean grunts, annoyed. He let a fucking shifter get the jump on him. Maybe he really is getting old. “Shit. I hope Jo’s alive.”</p><p>Cas hums. “She may well be. I doubt it's wise, in the long run, to kill HunterCorp personnel. The company has access to tremendous resources."</p><p>"Not sure I'm feeling that optimistic about her chances, or ours," Dean growls as he levers himself off the floor with a groan. Cas tries to cup one of his elbows for support, but Dean shakes him off. He's shown enough weakness for one night. "The shifter's killed at least two people already, and I doubt she'll come quietly if we track her down." </p><p>Dean gropes around in the dark for his flashlight. When he finds it, he tries to click it on and gives it a good shake just in case, but it refuses to cooperate. “Well, now what? Did you see which way she went?” </p><p>“No,” Cas says, sounding angry with himself.</p><p>“What gives? I thought you had enhanced angel vision or something? Shouldn’t you be able to see in the dark?”</p><p>Dean pulls out his phone and scrolls around for the flashlight app. The resulting thin beam of light is no match for the thick underground gloom. He’ll just have to hope his eyes get used to the darkness. </p><p>“Yes,” Cas admits, sheepishly. “I heard you fall and I became… distracted.”</p><p>Dean pockets his phone and puts that statement in his already respectably sized “can’t deal with this right now” pile. “Well, if we don’t know where she went, we should…”</p><p>“If you say ‘split up,’ so help me, I <em> will </em>punch you.”</p><p>Cas sounds like he means it too, so Dean cuts his losses and sets off to where the tunnel divides, stumbling several times in the darkness. “Eenie meenie…”</p><p>Cas pushes past him, making sure to knock into his shoulder none too gently. A warm, dry hand slips into Dean’s, and his brain short-circuits. “This way, you won’t get lost or bump into walls,” Cas rumbles.</p><p>They walk on, more or less blindly in Dean’s case, the stifling heat and the stench of sewer gas getting worse all the time, until Dean starts to worry he might actually choke if they don’t find the shifter soon. </p><p>That's when he remembers the fabric of the HunterCorp suits is breathable. Turns out reading the handbook was a good call after all. </p><p>“Hang on just a sec, Cas.”</p><p>Dean lets go of Cas’ hand and produces a small silver knife from one of the hidden pockets of his suit. He bends down, fingers searching blindly for the bottom seam of his pants. When he finds it, he carefully slices up through the fabric, all the way to his knee, then across and down again. It’s tricky without being able to see properly, but he manages a reasonable approximation of a fabric square and ties it over his face. The improvement is almost immediate; his head clears, his senses sharpen.</p><p>“Better?” Cas asks softly. </p><p>In answer, Dean reaches out in the dark, groping for Cas’ hand. When he finds it, he holds on tight, and Cas pulls him along again.</p><p>They stumble through the darkness for another five minutes, stopping occasionally when they hear a sound.</p><p>Dean’s about to suggest they find a ladder and regroup topside when footsteps echo through the gloomy tunnel. It’s hard to tell where they’re coming from, but…</p><p>“Cas, that’s moving towards us, right?” Dean’s voice is muffled by the fabric, so he pulls it down before he repeats himself.</p><p>He can barely make out Cas’ profile, nodding grimly. “I can’t tell which direction it’s coming from, unfortunately.”</p><p>“OK then.” With regret, Dean lets go of Cas’ hand, and they instinctively move around each other until they’re standing back to back. This is one of the many things Dean appreciates about his best friend: no matter how angry they are with each other, they fight like a single entity. There’s no need for communication or elaborate hand signals; they just anticipate each other’s moves and respond to them.</p><p>The footsteps round the corner closest to Dean, accompanied by the frantically jumping beam of a flashlight. The light hits Dean’s eyes, and he flinches.</p><p>Jo’s voice rings out. “Can’t see your eyes from over here, Winchester. Take out one of those silver knives of yours. Gonna need you to prove that you’re not the shifter.”</p><p>Without the flashlight pointed straight at his face, Dean can see that Jo’s wearing her HunterCorp uniform. She’s also pointing a gun at them.</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Dean says, not raising his own gun, but also not relaxing out of his defensive stance. “How do we know <em> you’re </em> not the fucking shifter? Last time we saw her, she was wearing <em> your </em> skin.”</p><p>Jo looks annoyed. “Bitch jumped me in an alley while I was checking out the perimeter. Took my clothes. That third whiskey shot seems like a bad call now.”</p><p>“I’ll say,” Dean mumbles, but he digs out his knife again and holds it against the skin of his palm for a few seconds. “Happy now?”</p><p>He tosses the knife at Jo, who catches it. When her skin doesn’t start smoking, Dean relaxes marginally.</p><p>“His turn now.” Jo nods at Cas.</p><p>Dean stiffens. It makes sense to test everyone, and there <em> was </em> that moment where he let go of Cas’ hand. No more than two minutes, but it could’ve been enough. It’s just that the idea he’s been holding hands with a shifter instead of Cas isn’t one he’s really prepared to entertain.</p><p>Still, Dean motions to Jo to toss the knife back to him. He catches it one-handed and holds it out to Cas.</p><p>Before Cas can take it, his deep, gravelly voice sounds from the other end of the tunnel. “That’s not me, Dean. Step away from him!”</p><p>Instinctually, Dean puts some distance between himself and the Cas next to him. He half-pivots so he can get the new arrival in his line of sight. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jo doing the same.</p><p>It becomes a whole lot harder to keep his head in the game when he notices the Cas standing about fifty feet beyond Jo is… buck naked.</p><p>Well, probably. Dean can’t actually see anything below the belt because their only light source, Jo’s flashlight, is pointed right at his face. </p><p>“Shit,” Jo calls, half over her shoulder. “I can’t tell. He’s too far away.”</p><p>Jo spins to face the trench-coated version of Cas, but he isn't any closer to her. She raises the flashlight to his face anyway, and Cas blinks into it, but Jo shakes her head in frustration. </p><p>“You<em> know </em> me, Dean,” naked Cas rumbles from the other end of the tunnel. “Better than anyone. You know the difference. Shoot him.”</p><p>“I’m insulted,” trench-coated Cas says, “that you would even consider the idea that a shapeshifter could overwhelm me in a fight. But in the interest of saving time…” Cas raises his angel blade to his face and slashes down his cheek, a long, narrow cut opening in the blade’s wake. The cut glows electric blue, bathing the tunnel in an eerie hue.</p><p>“Shapeshifters are creatures of Eve,” Cas says, as calmly as though he’s addressing a lecture hall. “They can’t imitate an angel’s grace.”</p><p>“What the fuck?” Jo’s mouth is wide open as the cut on Cas’ cheek briefly shimmers golden, then knits itself back together. “What the hell are you?”</p><p>“I thought I made that fairly obvious,” Cas says drily. If the little demonstration just now wasn’t enough, the sass would have sealed the deal for Dean. Still, it’s surprisingly hard to shoot someone in the face when they look like your best-friend-slash-whatever-the-hell-else-he-is.</p><p>Dean forces himself to remember that as long as the bullets he’s packing weren’t forged from angel blades, the real Cas should be fine. He raises his gun and shoots naked Cas in the middle of the forehead.</p><p>Cas’ expression is one of surprise and shock, then he crumples to the ground. No electric blue light emanates from the entry wound, and no golden glow as the wound heals. It’s done.</p><p>Jo stumbles over and slumps against the tunnel wall next to Dean, delivering a painfully solid slap to his arm that he barely avoids flinching at. When he looks over at her, he’s surprised to find some real warmth in her grin. “You did good, man.”</p><p>She eyes Dean and Cas in turn. “Anyone up for another round of whiskey? ‘Cause I sure as hell could go for shot number four, and you—” She points an accusing finger at Cas. “You owe me a couple of answers.”</p><p>***  </p><p>The flight back is just as much of an ordeal as the other one, but Jo passes the fuck out within about two minutes again, so Dean has no problem reaching out to hold Cas’ hand for the third time in two days.</p><p>Is this becoming a thing now? It kind of feels like it is. Maybe it’s limited to alternate-universe travel. Dean figures he’ll find out soon, because no matter what, their little adventure is coming to an end. They agreed to take on those hunts because someone had to, but now that they’re done, it seems like a good time to call Billie for a ride back to the bunker.  </p><p>Except before they can, there’s some kind of “debriefing” with none other than John Winchester himself. Dean barely has time for a quick, back-slapping greeting with Sam — complete with a visual once-over for injuries, which seem to be limited to a shallow cut along one arm — and an uncomfortably tight hug from Jack before Garth shepherds him into the same room where they had fake breakfast on their first morning.</p><p>As before, John looms at the top of the table, eyebrows already raised impatiently. The three of them — Dean, Jo and Cas — take seats near each other, and Jo launches into a to-the-point, if a little jargon-y, explanation of the hunt.</p><p>When she gets to the part about getting jumped by the shifter — carefully leaving out that she was three shots of whiskey deep — John hums in the way that means he knows there’s more to the story. </p><p>When Jo talks about how Cas cut himself to prove he wasn’t a shifter, John freezes.</p><p>Dean and Cas had told Jo, over that fourth round of whiskey, all about what Cas is and why he’s not a danger to anyone. Because apparently, everyone in this universe knows monsters exist, but the angels never showed their faces, so they’re an unknown entity. Jo had looked vaguely disbelieving, but by the sixth round, she and Cas were fast friends, and he was letting her check out the balance of his angel blade. (And yeah, maybe Dean was tipsy enough to make some dick jokes about that.)</p><p>Now, Jo’s explaining all about Cas being an angel to John, who, judging by the dark set of his brows, isn’t at all inclined to make friends.</p><p>Instead, he turns to Dean, expression thunderous. “You brought a goddamn <em> creature </em> on a hunt?”</p><p>Dean bristles, more on Cas’ behalf than his own. “Cas is not a <em> creature</em>. He’s an Angel of the Lord. A warrior of Heaven. Whatever else you wanna call it, but, point is, he’s one of the good guys. The best, in <em> my </em> book.”</p><p>He looks over at Cas, a little self-consciously, and is pleased to see a small smile turned his way. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d swear Cas was blushing.</p><p>“Thank you, Dean,” Cas mumbles, then goes back to smiling.</p><p>“Never did have much faith in your good judgment, son, but this is a new low even for you,” John growls. “When I met the guy, I figured he was a fuck buddy, but please tell me even<em> you </em> aren’t so goddamn stupid as to invite a monster into your bedroom.”</p><p>Cas tenses up and leaps out of his chair. The smile from a second ago is gone, replaced by crackling, radiant fury. Dean jumps up too, putting a steadying hand on Cas' shoulder. First Sam, and now Cas. He's too damn old to have others keep fighting this battle for him.</p><p>He turns to John.</p><p>“You know what?” He lets the words roll out on a tide of white-hot anger, each one coming easier than the last. Louder, too. “Fuck this, and fuck you. I don’t even belong in this shitty excuse for a universe. I’m only here because of some giant magical fuck-up, and I’m leaving within the hour. So, news flash, you're not my father, and you've got no claim on me. My father died more than ten years ago, and yeah, I miss him. But you know what my biggest regret is?" He’s riding high on adrenaline, his insides roiling with a mix of anxiety and elation that, somehow, keeps him talking in the face of John's thunderous expression. “That he never got to meet Cas. Because Cas has been around now for, God, more than a decade. And yeah, he does stupid shit, and he leaves sometimes, but when it really matters, he's there."</p><p>Dean pauses for breath, looking for the next words, but finds he doesn’t have any. He glances at John, who’s speechless too, slack-jawed and crimson-faced, and Jo, who looks almost comically shocked.</p><p>Finally, he looks at Cas, standing next to him, blue eyes wide with surprise and affection. Cas’ hand twitches uncertainly between them, like he wants to reach out but doesn't dare. </p><p>Dean doesn't know what makes him do it. Maybe it's the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. Maybe it's the way Cas looks so damn proud of him. Before he knows it, he's stepped up to Cas and touched their lips together. </p><p>As soon as he pulls back and takes in Cas’ blank, shocked expression, it hits him what he’s just done.</p><p>“Fuck,” he mumbles, his pleasant adrenaline high replaced in a split-second by the swooping feeling of panic. Ducking his head, he turns and walks out the door, not even bothering to close it behind him.</p><p>He stalks down the hall, thanking his lucky stars that at least Garth isn’t hanging around. The first exit he sees is a sliding glass door that leads out to a roomy back patio, and he walks straight through it. There’s several well-cushioned lounge chairs and an expansive view of a backyard that might as well be a park. Dean would enjoy it here if he wasn’t so busy freaking out.</p><p>He sinks onto the edge of one of the chairs and hunches over, head cradled in his hands. What the fuck did he do? He was going on and on about the importance of his friendship with Cas, and now he’s gone and screwed it up.</p><p>The white noise of his own thoughts is so loud, he doesn’t even notice Jo until she’s already dropped onto the chair next to his.</p><p>“So…” she says, quieter and more careful than he’s ever heard this version of her. “You don't belong in this 'shitty excuse for a universe,' huh?” She doesn't actually do the air quotes, not like Cas would, but Dean can hear them anyway.</p><p>“Long story,” he grits out. “Not really in a talking mood. D’you mind?”</p><p>Apparently Jo does, because she goes right on talking. “Should’ve figured something was up. The version of you<em> I </em>know, he never would’ve climbed into a sewer. Too worried about getting a bit of dirt under his precious, manicured fingernails.” After a beat, she adds, thoughtful, “You’re different.”</p><p>Dean raises his head and turns to look at her. She doesn’t seem put off or freaked out. Just… curious. “The version of Jo that I knew,” Dean says quietly. “She was a lot like you.”</p><p>Jo raises an eyebrow. “Was?”</p><p>Dean nods, remembering a soft, sad kiss goodbye. “Yeah. She… she died. Long time ago.”</p><p>Jo thinks that over. “Was it a good death?” she asks finally.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure she thought so,” Dean answers, his own fond chuckle surprising him.</p><p>With a crooked smile, Jo asks, “Blaze of glory?”</p><p>“Blaze of glory,” Dean agrees.</p><p>“Well.” Jo rises off her chair and holds out a hand. “It’s been a real thrill meeting you, Dean Winchester from another universe.”</p><p>Dean takes Jo’s hand, unsurprised that this version’s handshake is just as bone-crushing as the other one’s used to be. “You too, alternate-universe Jo Harvelle.”</p><p>“Any idea what happened to <em> our </em> version of you?”</p><p>Dean shakes his head. “Not sure. But I’m willing to bet he’s out there somewhere with his version of Sam, and if he’s anything like me at all, he’ll figure out a way to come back if he wants to. Us Winchesters, we’re stubborn sons of bitches.”</p><p>“Don’t I know it,” Jo says as she turns away. She takes a couple of steps, then stops. “By the way,” she says over her shoulder, “you know Cas is in love with you too, right?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next week: The final chapter and epilogue. After the events in the HunterCorp!verse, Dean isn't sure how to act around Cas. Having another version of them around the bunker, especially one that acts all sappy around each other, doesn't help. Or does it?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here it is! The last chapter of this crazy, inter-dimensional trip of a story. (Plus, an epilogue, which is also posted!)</p>
<p>Whether you've been here from the beginning, joined halfway through or found this months after the fact, I really appreciate you reading! </p>
<p>After you finish, I hope you'll take a minute to subscribe to me on <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendofCarlotta/pseuds/FriendofCarlotta">my author page</a>. That way, you'll be alerted every time I post something new. (If you want to know what that something new is, stick around for the endnote after the epilogue.)</p>
<p>Also, can I just say, I'm insane for trying to write a whole chapter with two different versions of TFW all stuck in the bunker together. This was really hard to pull off. I hope I've managed to make this a) not too confusing and b) not too clunky.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Dean’s feet touch the floor, he’s so dizzy, he damn near throws up on the map table.</p>
<p>“Ugh.” He blows out a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “No more trips to other universes unless it’s through a portal or in my sleep. I mean, I know that only took a few seconds, but… damn.”</p>
<p>He aims a glare at Billie, who looks quietly amused. “Actually, about five days passed while we travelled. I put your bodies in a state of suspension so you wouldn’t need sustenance, but you should probably eat something now.”</p>
<p>Sam looks just as appalled, and green around the gills, as Dean feels. “Five days? We lost <em> five days</em>?”</p>
<p>“One of the downsides of inter-dimensional travel when you don’t hitch a ride with a reality-bending spell,” Billie says, sounding supremely unconcerned. “It takes a while.”</p>
<p>Dean grunts his frustration, then catches Jack’s eye to check in on him. Jack seems fine, other than a slight, worried crease to his forehead that’s probably him fretting about Sam and Dean’s obvious distress.</p>
<p>Dean very much avoids looking at Cas, like he has ever since their spontaneous kiss right in front of his father (or a version of him anyway).</p>
<p>In the few hours between the kiss and their departure back to the bunker, Cas looked like he wanted to pull Dean aside several times, but Dean’s brain helpfully supplied him with increasingly flimsy excuses for why he needed to be somewhere else right the fuck now.</p>
<p>“Are we all back to normal now, Billie? Is everyone back in their own universe?” Jack asks, but the room is empty apart from the four of them. Damn cosmic entities and their inability to say a proper goodbye.</p>
<p>Which reminds Dean of Cas again. But apparently, Cas has taken a page out of his book, because he’s already stalking out of the war room and down the back corridor.</p>
<p>
  <em>You know Cas is in love with you too, right?</em>
</p>
<p>Yeah. Fat chance.</p>
<p>“I think Cas is upset,” Jack says quietly. “I’m not sure why. He wouldn’t talk to me.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, Jack.” Sam gives Jack a gentle pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not your fault. I’ve got a feeling I know whose it is though.” With a meaningful glower in Dean’s direction, he staggers off the same way Cas went, Jack following close behind.</p>
<p>Dean slumps into one of the chairs at the map table. Less than a minute goes by before his stomach growls to remind him he should really be heading for the kitchen. “Oh, shut up,” he mumbles. “Just gimme a minute to think.”</p>
<p>He kissed Cas. He<em> kissed </em> Cas. At the worst possible time and in the worst possible company. And instead of apologizing right away, he’s been avoiding the guy. He wouldn’t blame Cas if he wanted nothing to do with him ever again.</p>
<p>Dean’s depressing train of thought is cut short by the rusty creak of the bunker door opening above him. His adrenaline spikes. He jumps off his chair, cursing himself for not having any weapons handy. For a split-second, he considers running to his room for his sawed-off, but then, he catches sight of who’s just walked through the door.</p>
<p>It’s Cas, face screwed up in discomfort, leaning on Sam with one arm, and with the other… on <em> him</em>. Dean swallows, hard. At least that answers Jack's question from earlier: apparently, the versions of them who ended up here haven’t left.</p>
<p>The other Dean shifts Cas’ weight more securely onto his shoulders, looks up — and freezes. “Shit.”</p>
<p>At the muttered curse, Other Cas and Other Sam look up too, their lips parting in identical expressions of shock.</p>
<p>Dean has absolutely no idea how to act in this situation, but figures he’ll start talking and see what happens. “Um, hi. So… we’re back.”</p>
<p>He takes in the way Other Cas is leaning heavily on the other two men, and waves for them to come down. “What happened to him?”</p>
<p>“Just a couple of bruised ribs I think,” Other Cas grits out as the others half-drag him to the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll live.”</p>
<p>Confused, Dean turns to himself. Other Dean. Great. He's getting a headache already.</p>
<p>“Why doesn’t he just heal himself?”</p>
<p>“He’s human, dickwad,” Other Dean says, scowling. “Thanks for the reminder.”</p>
<p>Other Sam glares at the pair of them, in an uncanny imitation of the Sam who left two minutes ago. “Can we go put him down now? He really will be alright, but he needs a place to rest.”</p>
<p>“Oh, um, sure,” Dean walks out into the corridor and opens the door of the first bedroom they come to.</p>
<p>Other Dean eyes the inside suspiciously, taking in the slightly dusty bedspread. “He’s been sleeping in Room 15,” he says, eyes narrowing.</p>
<p>“Right. Well, <em>our</em> version of Cas is back in there now.” Doing what, Dean tries not to think about.</p>
<p>Other Cas squints back and forth between the two Deans with obvious annoyance. “Can we keep this moving? I don’t care <em>where</em> you put me. Just, any flat surface at this point.”</p>
<p>“Sure, Cas,” Other Sam says placatingly, and takes the lead on helping Other Cas into the room.</p>
<p>“Hang on." Dean lifts the dusty comforter off the bed to reveal the white sheets underneath. “There, that’s better. I can get a new blanket too.”</p>
<p>Each of the bedrooms usually has some spare bedding in the closet, and this one’s no exception. The blankets smell a little musty, but they look clean. Dean grabs one, only for Other Dean to yank it out of his hand immediately.</p>
<p>“I’ll take care of it,” Other Dean mutters, spreading the blanket over Other Cas with surprising gentleness before he sits down on the bed next to him.</p>
<p>Dean’s heart stutters as he watches someone who looks like him pick up another man's hand — <em>Cas'</em> hand — and hold it, making no excuses for the gesture.</p>
<p>“You need anything?” Other Dean asks quietly, and for a split-second, an achingly tender look flashes across Other Cas’ eyes before he says, with a cocky smirk, “I need you to fuck me, but that’s not exactly on the table right now, is it?”</p>
<p>Other Dean snorts. “Might wanna give those ribs a couple days to heal first, sweetheart.”</p>
<p>Dean’s face heats up to roughly the temperature of a volcano mid-eruption. “Um,” he mumbles, feeling the need to do something, anything, to get away from the scene playing out in front of him. "I'll just go. Get something." He turns away from the bed, arms swinging awkwardly at his sides. What does he usually do with those? He can't seem to remember. </p>
<p>“Oh come on,” Other Sam says, grinning. “If I can stand it, you can. You and <em>your</em> Cas probably aren’t any better.”</p>
<p>“No, we, um.” Dean curses himself for being a stuttering idiot, but his ability to form a coherent sentence seems to have left the building. “We’renotlikethatsureIcan'tgetyouanything?”</p>
<p>The words come out so quickly, everyone else in the room takes a minute to catch up. Eventually, Other Cas grins at him. “Apparently, I can’t get what I <em>really</em> want, but a drink would be good. The higher the alcohol content, the better.”</p>
<p>“Don’t get me wrong,” Dean says, “I’m not one to talk about bad choices in the booze department, but we’ve got some awesome painkillers in the infirmary, and you probably shouldn’t be mixing those with alcohol.”</p>
<p>Somehow, he’s said the wrong thing, because a muscle in Other Cas’ jaw ticks. </p>
<p>Other Dean’s expression darkens. “Cas doesn’t need any of that shit, right, babe?”</p>
<p>Other Cas looks down at his lap and clenches his jaw harder, but nods.</p>
<p>Something clicks in Dean’s memory. “Holy fuck. You guys are… no, wait, you can’t be. You’re dead.”</p>
<p>Three heads spin to face him. </p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Other Sam asks, brow scrunched in confusion.</p>
<p>Dean waves it off. “Nothing, man. Just… I traveled to this weird alternate reality once where Croatoan got out of control and me and Cas were living at this place called Camp Something-or-other, and Cas was human and constantly getting high, and everything was all screwed up.”</p>
<p>“And I was possessed by Lucifer?” Other Sam asks quietly.</p>
<p>Dean swallows. “Yeah, but…”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s us.” Other Dean glares up at him from his place on the bed, daring Dean to make something of it.</p>
<p>“Can’t be.” He shakes his head, ice-cold dread sliding down his spine at the mere memory of that place. “I watched Sam twist my… <em> your </em> … neck. And you…” Instinctively, he bites off the next words he was going to say: <em> You sent Cas to his death. </em> Instead, he says, “And Cas, he died too.” He faces Other Sam. “And unless there’s something really fucking weird going on between you three, <em> you’re </em>not possessed.”</p>
<p>“I was,” Other Sam says, reaching up to push some of his hair behind his ear. It’s the same nervous tic Dean’s seen on his own Sam a thousand times. “But when I woke up here, Lucifer was just... gone.”</p>
<p>“And I was clean,” Other Cas mumbles, almost like he’s embarrassed. “No withdrawal either.”</p>
<p>Something occurs to Dean, and he chuckles. “Perks of a purification spell.”</p>
<p>All three of the newcomers look pretty damn confused, but he waves them off. “I’ll explain later. Seriously, though, why aren’t you dead?”</p>
<p>Other Sam frowns thoughtfully. “When we got here, we figured out that it’s 2020, which is a few years ahead of our timeline. What year was it in our universe when you traveled there?”</p>
<p>Dean turns his eyes to the ceiling, trying to picture the front page of a newspaper passed to him by a smirking Zachariah. “2014. August.”</p>
<p>The three others exchange troubled looks.</p>
<p>Other Cas breaks the silence first. “When we went to sleep at camp, the night before we woke up here, I'm pretty sure it was the end of July, 2014.” His eyes slide over to Other Dean, and something passes between them. Dean thinks he knows what it is: that feeling you get when someone you love narrowly escapes death; half almost-painful relief, half an echo of the grief that could have been. Other Cas brings up a hand to cup Other Dean's jaw, the pad of his thumb sliding gently across the stubble there.</p>
<p>There's a burning ache deep in Dean's chest, and he really should leave. He and his Cas aren’t ever going to have this kind of intimacy between them, so why torture himself?</p>
<p>Other Dean bends down and presses a slow, tender kiss to Other Cas' lips before he says, “We’re not going back there, you hear? I’m not gonna let that happen to us.” He turns to Other Sam, and an entire silent conversation passes between them. After a few seconds, Other Dean nods, satisfied.</p>
<p>“I don’t know how <em> you </em> got sent back to your own universe, but we’re not leaving,” Other Dean says. His expression very clearly adds, “Agree with me or I <em> will </em>cut you.”</p>
<p>Dean holds up a placating hand. “Hey, no one’s making you leave right this second. Not sure you can stay here at the bunker, but we’ll figure something out. Let me get the rest of the guys so we can bring them up to speed.”</p>
<p>As he turns to go, he almost bumps into someone standing in the doorframe. It’s Cas — the trench-coat-and-halo version. His eyes are fixed on the two figures on the bed, holding hands and smiling at each other with something tentative and warm in their eyes.</p>
<p>At Dean’s muttered, “Um, hey, Cas,” Cas flinches, like he didn’t even realize Dean was there. Their eyes meet for the barest instant, and there’s a question on Cas’ face that Dean really, really wishes he had the answer to.</p>
<p>He pushes past Cas and stalks down the corridor to fetch Sam and Jack.</p>
<p>*** </p>
<p>Unsurprisingly, the two Sams hit it off right away. As soon as they run into each other, they retreat to the library to go through a whole pile of dusty tomes and figure out whether any possible harm could come from having two versions of Team Free Will hang out in the same universe.</p>
<p>Sam briefly raised the issue back when their HunterCorp counterparts showed up at the bunker. But every other universe had already been destroyed by Chuck at the time, so it wasn’t like sending the other Sam and Dean home was an option. Dean wonders sometimes what happened to them. Did they get sent somewhere else too, or were they somehow exempt because they were already in the wrong universe?</p>
<p>The obvious answer to all their questions would be to summon Billie and ask her. Dean’s raised that possibility, but Other Dean shouted him down, his anger barely concealing the fear in his eyes. Now that the newcomers know Death has the power to transport them back to their own world, they understandably aren’t eager to tempt fate by letting her hang around.</p>
<p>The argument settles itself when Billie shows up in the kitchen the very next morning, while everyone's having breakfast together. (Even Other Cas hobbled over from his room, claiming he was going stir-crazy.)</p>
<p>From one split-second to the next, she’s popped into existence next to the fridge, scythe and all. The alternate-universe guys almost fall off their bench seats, and Other Dean scrambles for a weapon he doesn’t carry anymore, but Team Bunker takes the whole thing in stride. All-powerful beings stopping by has become pretty par for the course over the years.</p>
<p>It <em> is </em> kind of early in the morning for this though, so Dean raises his hand in a half-hearted wave and points at his coffee, which he definitely needs to finish before he deals with this. Sam and Cas give Billie a pair of acknowledging nods, but Jack leaps up and folds her into a hug — apparently his standard greeting for Billie now.</p>
<p>“New guys, this is Billie. Billie, new guys,” Jack proclaims happily as soon as he lets her go.</p>
<p>Other Dean visibly stiffens. “Billie?<em> Death </em> Billie?”  </p>
<p>“The very same,” Billie says drily. “I came to talk to you about going back to your own universe.” She nods at each of the alternate-universe guys in turn, and identical expressions of panic flash across their faces.</p>
<p>“Fuck no.” Other Dean is on his feet in an instant, planting them in a defensive stance and putting his body between Billie and Other Cas. “Do whatever the hell you want to <em> me</em>, but you’re not taking Cas back there.”</p>
<p>Behind Other Dean, Other Cas rises off his seat, wincing a little and favoring his left side. But he moves to stand beside Other Dean and take his hand.</p>
<p>“You don’t get to make that decision for me,” he says calmly, all his focus on Other Dean and none of it on Death herself, six feet away from them. “If you’re going back, then so am I.”</p>
<p>Other Dean's expression slackens, halfway between tenderness and devastation. But before he can respond, Other Sam gets up and clears his throat. “If anyone’s going back, it’s me. You guys have a shot at something if you stay here, but there’s nothing for me. Maybe, if I go back, I can try to rally some resistance, take another shot at Lucifer. I could…”</p>
<p>“What, get yourself <em>possessed</em> again?” Other Dean’s face twists with rage and disappointment. “No, Sam! I’m not letting that happen.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m not letting <em> you </em> throw away…” Other Sam starts, but Billie waves her hand at the room at large, and everyone falls silent. Dean feels a small pressure settle into his throat, like the magical equivalent of a sink plug. Other Dean and Other Sam try to keep shouting at each other for a few seconds, but can’t seem to make a sound.</p>
<p>“Will you<em> just </em> let me talk?” Billie looks at them like they're a bunch of naughty first-graders. It’s kind of satisfying, watching that cool, collected façade crack a little. “I said I’m here to <em> talk </em> to you about going back to your own universe. If you wanna stay, it’s alright with <em> me</em>." She glowers at them each in turn, which seems unnecessary. Even if she hadn't magically stopped up their throats, Dean doubts any of them would be fool enough to interrupt. "I’ve been making the rounds of all the different versions of you Winchesters, checking in to see if they want a ride back to where they came from. But if not — fine, less work for me." </p>
<p>Dean gestures at Sam to get his attention, then points at Sam's shirt pocket and back at himself. Four decades of silent conversations paying off, Sam passes him the notebook and pencil stub he keeps in that pocket most of the time. Dean scrawls, "What happened to the HunterCorp guys?" and holds the notepad up for Billie to see. </p>
<p>Billie huffs. "Found them huddled up in the middle of a forest, trying to grill squirrels, in <em>your</em> world." She jerks her chin at the newcomers. "They seemed pretty damn happy to see me, but they wanted to come back <em>here</em> instead of going home. Said they started a beach bar in Brazil." She looks deeply disapproving at the idea that anyone would want to do something so frivolous. </p>
<p>Other Cas gestures urgently at his own throat.</p>
<p>Billie grimaces, like this whole thing is a major inconvenience to <em> her</em>. She makes another small hand motion, and the pressure in Dean’s throat lifts. "Fine," she says. "You can talk again."</p>
<p>"So just let me make sure I have this right," Other Cas says quietly. He's wiped his face of all emotion, in the way Dean's version of Cas does when he's worried about losing control over a particularly strong one. "We can... stay?"</p>
<p>“That's what I said,” Billie answers, sounding impatient again. “The only versions of you boys who have to stick with their own universe are the originals. In other words, you.” She nods at Dean, Sam, Cas and Jack in turn. “A couple of days taking another universe for a joyride won’t do any harm, but you can’t settle somewhere else permanently without disturbing the cosmic balance.”</p>
<p>“Wait just a goddamn second,” Other Dean interrupts. “What do you mean, originals?”</p>
<p>“Chuck told me once that the version of Dean and I in this universe — we’re the first ones he ever made,” Sam explains. “All the other Sams and Deans came later.”</p>
<p>Billie nods. “Sam and Dean exist in every world Chuck created. Sometimes, there’s a version of Castiel, but not always. There’s only one version of Jack, and it’s this one right here.” She nods at Jack, the smallest possible version of a fond smile tilting her lips.</p>
<p>“That’s great and all,” Other Cas interrupts, leaning into Other Dean's shoulder. “But you’re missing the point here, babe. We don't have to go back.” He grins, big and happy, and an answering grin spreads, more slowly, across Other Dean’s face.</p>
<p>As Dean watches the two of them making heart eyes at each other, his lungs suddenly feel too big for his chest. It's one thing having to deal with this when it's just him, but with Cas in the room too... it's too much. </p>
<p>Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s gotten off his seat and is heading for the door. It sounds like someone's calling his name, but he's past caring. He doesn’t stop walking until he gets to his room and pulls the door shut behind him.</p>
<p>Maybe he forgot to lock the door on his way in, or maybe Cas finally put to use some of those lock-picking skills Dean's been trying to teach him for years. In any case, barely two minutes pass before the door opens and Cas steps across the threshold.</p>
<p>Dean looks up from where he’s sitting, at the edge of his bed, head cradled in his hands. “Don’t you knock anymore?”</p>
<p>“No,” Cas growls. “Because if I'd knocked, you would have pretended you’re not here. We need to talk.”</p>
<p>Dean can be a stubborn son of a bitch, so he sits and says nothing. Unfortunately, for him, Cas can be an even <em> more </em>stubborn son of a bitch. He pulls up Dean’s desk chair and crosses his arms, waiting.</p>
<p>“Sorry about the kiss,” Dean mumbles, after a small eternity.</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“Why what?” Dean shoots right back. He can stall forever if necessary.</p>
<p>“Why did you kiss me?” Cas pauses, then tilts his head, like he’s considering something. “And also, why are you sorry?”</p>
<p>Dean skates right by the first question because he can't answer it without laying bare a decade’s worth of carefully guarded feelings. “Well, for one, you didn’t ask for it.”</p>
<p>“True.” Cas nods, lips pursed. “I accept your apology for proceeding without affirmative consent. What else?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean, what else?”</p>
<p>Cas heaves a deep sigh, like Dean’s being deliberately obtuse. Maybe he is? He doesn’t know anymore. “You said ‘for one,’ Dean. That would imply there was another item on the list.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Dean’s brain is spinning in frantic circles, trying to find the least incriminating answer. “Well, it wasn’t a very good kiss.”</p>
<p>“I’ll be the judge of that,” Cas says, matter-of-fact. “I thought it was fine.”</p>
<p>“You… OK then,” Dean finishes lamely, not really sure what to say to that.</p>
<p>He settles for staring at the small nail that’s been sticking out of his bed frame since forever. He’s been meaning to fix that. One of these days, he’s going to slice his foot open if he’s not careful.</p>
<p>“Dean.” Dean flinches. He hadn’t exactly forgotten Cas was here, but his repression game is strong. “Why did you kiss me?”</p>
<p>Right. That question is still on the table. Dean should probably answer, but he doesn’t have the first idea of how to go about it, so he says nothing.</p>
<p>After a minute, Cas exhales heavily and gets off his chair. He turns to the door, and Dean knows this is it: he’s finally done it. Cas is about to walk out of here, out of the bunker and out of his life.</p>
<p>Dean forces his focus off the nail and onto Cas, who’s staring at the door, shoulders hunched, every line of his body guarded and uncertain. When he notices Dean’s attention on him, he turns and their eyes meet.</p>
<p>Something shifts in Cas’ face. Dean has no idea what Cas is getting off his expression, but it makes him take a step back into the room and sit on the bed next to Dean. He’s close enough that, if Dean were to shift his weight slightly, their thighs would brush. </p>
<p>“If you answer my question,” Cas says hesitantly, looking down at his hands in his lap, “I'll have some things to tell you as well.”</p>
<p>Dean can’t help the hitch in his breath. There’s a roaring in his ears.</p>
<p>Cas looks up, studying the side of Dean’s face. “But you <em> have </em> to answer, Dean.”</p>
<p>“What if I don’t?” Dean croaks, because before he commits to anything, he always has to know what the worst possible outcome is going to be.</p>
<p>“If you don’t,” Cas says, the force of his stare boring into Dean’s head, “I would continue to visit and spend time with you, Sam and Jack. But I wouldn't be able to stay.”</p>
<p>As Cas' words sink in, Dean's throat suddenly feels too full to swallow.</p>
<p>“What if you don’t like my answer?” His voice is smaller than he's used to. Loud and cocky is where he's at home. Anything else feels too risky.</p>
<p>“I can’t make this any easier for you than I already have.” There’s a definite hint of exhaustion in Cas’ voice now. “I can’t prompt you for the answer. I need to hear it from<em> you</em>.”</p>
<p>Dean’s heart is beating so hard that he’s starting to feel a little dizzy. He's actually about to do this, without convenient excuses about needing a distraction from his fear of flying, or help walking through a dark tunnel.</p>
<p>His hand lifts off his thigh, shaking a little. He pauses, willing it to steady before he keeps moving, crossing the impossibly short and desperately long distance between him and Cas.</p>
<p>To make sure he doesn’t chicken out, he moves faster the closer he gets, until his hand practically smacks into Cas’. Dean laces their fingers together and inhales, holding that breath and sneaking a glance at Cas. He looks surprised, but… not in a bad way.</p>
<p>Dean breathes out, and the words follow.</p>
<p>“I… I kissed you because I wanted to. <em> Have </em> wanted to for a long time.” He bites his lip, hard, needing his nervous energy to find some kind of outlet. “Sorry I picked such a shitty time and place for it.”</p>
<p>“We’ll do better this time,” Cas says, eyes warm and soft. He leans in, and Dean’s heart speeds up again, his brain working overtime to keep his body from flinching away.  </p>
<p>Cas' lips brush against Dean’s, a small, tentative touch before he pulls back again. “You're very precious to me, Dean. You always have been. I’m sorry you thought you couldn't share these feelings with me."</p>
<p>Dean huffs, taking refuge in the sense of grievance that always sits just below the surface when it comes to Cas. “It’s not like you’ve exactly done a great job of talking to me, man. I’m still mad you made a stupid deal and didn’t even tell me.”</p>
<p>The lines around Cas’ eyes tighten before he makes a visible effort to compose himself. “When you were going to lock yourself in a Ma’lak Box to contain Michael, you didn’t tell <em> me</em>. Why?”</p>
<p>“Because I couldn’t face saying goodbye to you.” The answer is out before Dean thinks about it, and then something occurs to him. “You're trying to say that’s why you didn’t tell me about the deal.”</p>
<p>Cas nods. “If I had told you, you would have been angry. But worse than that, it would've been effectively a goodbye. No matter how long the deal would have taken to come due, our relationship would have been changed forever. I didn’t want that. I wanted to hold on to what we had, to our family, until the very last possible moment.”</p>
<p>Dean glances down at their joined hands in Cas’ lap, trying to find the words he still needs to say. Cas, apparently sensing his hesitation, squeezes Dean’s hand and cradles it between both of his. Sure enough, it helps.</p>
<p>“I don’t know if you’ve been watching the other Dean and Cas.”</p>
<p>One corner of Cas’ mouth ticks up. “They seem happy.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Dean clears his throat as he remembers the way those two smiled at each other in the kitchen. “I don’t think I ever told you much about the time I met them before. When I traveled to their future, and Zachariah tried to make me believe that was <em> our </em>future if I didn’t say yes to Michael.”</p>
<p>Cas doesn’t say anything; he holds Dean’s gaze, waiting for him to find the words.</p>
<p>“Their world, man, their lives — everything had gone to hell. Worse than what <em> we’ve </em> been through. They had nothing left. That version of me, I barely recognized him. He didn’t give a shit about anyone else, not even the other Cas. And that Cas, he… he’d given up. He was high on weed and pills and shit, and he was so damn... out of it. It… it killed me, seeing any version of you like that.”</p>
<p>Dean swallows thickly, going for broke. “Hell, if they can come back from <em> that </em> and find love with each other, maybe we can too?”</p>
<p>Cas’ face goes slack with affection, and he surges forward.</p>
<p>Their third kiss is much better than the second or the first. Their lips come together and part, again and again, frantic, hurried touches chasing after each other, like they’re trying to rack up a count to make up for lost time.</p>
<p>Then Cas pulls back, cupping Dean’s face in his hands.</p>
<p>“I love you,” he says simply, and a weight falls off Dean’s chest that he never knew he was carrying. It had been there so long, he’d become inured to its presence.</p>
<p>“I love you, Cas,” he says, the shape of his own mouth foreign around the words.</p>
<p>Cas’ face lights up, and Dean grins back at him until his face hurts from the strain. Eventually, though, his eyes are drawn away from Cas' face and down the lines of his body, frustratingly hidden under that boxy suit and coat. “Cas, I… I’m really trying to play this cool, but I’ve waited a long time to get here, and…”</p>
<p>“Yes. I want to have sex with you.” Cas moves in for another kiss, and before Dean’s brain catches up, he’s on his back on the mattress, Cas staring down at him with heat in his eyes. “I assume that’s what you were trying to ask for. If it wasn’t, now would be a good time to tell me.”</p>
<p>Dean swallows and licks his lips, willing his mouth to form words again. “Yeah, that’s where I was going with that.”</p>
<p>Cas nods, satisfied, and shrugs off his coat and jacket. When he starts to work on his tie, Dean sits up, covering Cas’ hands with his own. “Let me.” He grabs hold of the smooth strip of fabric, tugging gently until Cas’ lips meet his again.</p>
<p>The kiss starts off soft, but it’s laced with intent this time, and Dean’s breath comes faster as Cas’ tongue slides into his mouth. Blindly, he loosens the knot of Cas’ tie and pulls off his own flannel. He gets to work on the buttons of Cas’ shirt next, and when he feels it fall open, he can’t help it. He has to see.</p>
<p>He leans back on his hands to get a good look at Cas’ chest, that lean canvas of firm, tanned skin. “God, Cas. You’re gorgeous,” he breathes without thinking, and panic sets in almost immediately. “Wait. I’m sorry. Is that weird? I mean, I know this is just a vessel and not really you. I mean, it <em> is</em>, but…”</p>
<p>Dean has never been more grateful for Cas than when he leans down and cuts off Dean’s rambling with a gentle kiss. “Jimmy’s soul departed this body more than ten years ago,” he whispers, so close that Dean feels every puff of breath when Cas speaks. “I’ve died and come back to life in this body more than once. I consider it mine in every sense of the word. Your compliments are welcome and appreciated.”</p>
<p>Dean hums, nuzzling at Cas’ cheek. He lies back onto the mattress and pulls Cas down with him until he’s bracketed between Cas’ arms. One of Dean’s hands reaches out to cup Cas’ face, his thumb exploring the gentle age lines grooved into Cas’ forehead.</p>
<p>“I’ve wondered sometimes.” He pulls Cas even further down, until Cas’ weight is resting on his forearms and he’s chest to chest with Dean. When he’s got Cas where he wants him, he plants a gentle kiss on the crow’s feet next to Cas’ left eye. “I know Jimmy didn’t have <em> these </em> when you and I met.”</p>
<p>A lovely pink spreads over Cas’ cheeks. “No, I… after I realized how I felt about you, I decided to stop expending grace to keep this body’s appearance youthful. It seemed wrong to watch you grow older while I retained the appearance of a young man. I found that I… wanted to experience the process of aging alongside you.” Cas looks a little bashful in the wake of his admission, and Dean chuckles, fondness warming his chest.</p>
<p>“You saying you wanted to grow old with me, Cas?”</p>
<p>Cas wiggles even closer, touching his forehead to Dean’s. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”</p>
<p>“I think we could make that happen,” Dean whispers, punctuating his words with a teasing brush of lips along Cas’ jawline. “First, though, can we have sex?”</p>
<p>“I think it’s one of the better ideas you’ve had,” Cas rumbles, eyes sparkling, and the heat between them resurfaces with a vengeance. In one fluid, graceful motion, Cas rises off the bed, shrugging out of his shirt and pulling at his belt. Dean stares, open-mouthed, until Cas chuckles. “Dean, my sexual experience may be limited, but I do believe you'll need to be naked.”</p>
<p>Dean blinks hard until his higher cognitive functions come back online. He tugs off his t-shirt, hissing a little when his hands move down to his jeans and brush over his rapidly growing bulge. He gets his button open, but his brain stalls again as he watches Cas drop his slacks to reveal the outline of a generously sized erection against a pair of black boxer briefs.</p>
<p>“I can’t wait to get my mouth on that,” he breathes. There’s a small jolt of shame in the wake of that statement — he’s probably coming on way too strong; who even says something like that? — but Cas just squints at him and, with a single, determined yank, pushes his underwear to the floor, freeing a blood-flushed, thick cock. He smiles, a little shyly, as he moves closer.</p>
<p>“Fuck.” Dean unzips his jeans as fast as he can safely manage over his straining erection. He shuffles out of them, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. He knee-walks over to where Cas is standing next to the bed and sits down at the edge of the mattress, both feet planted on the floor. He keeps his eyes on the prize, but his hands roam all over Cas’ chest and arms. Finally, he looks up.</p>
<p>“You want me to?” Dean asks, even though the answer is there, loud and clear, in Cas’ heavy breaths and darkened eyes.</p>
<p>Cas nods, and Dean dives in. The weight on his tongue is heavy, solid and warm, stretching his jaw and overwhelming his senses. It’s been years since he’s done this, and he’s never particularly liked it. The vulnerability that comes along with having another man’s dick in his mouth, the inability to properly defend himself if things go sideways — it’s not something he was ever totally at ease with.</p>
<p>But this is Cas. He’d trust Cas with his life.</p>
<p>So Dean closes his eyes and takes Cas as far back as he can, relishing the moan he gets in response and the insistent throbbing of his own, untouched cock.</p>
<p>“Dean, I…” Cas breaks off, words clearly failing him as a long, ragged groan falls from his lips. “Please, Dean, can I…” Smiling during a blowjob is a challenge, but Dean tries anyway. He’s giddy at the thought that he’s reducing someone as powerful and controlled as Cas to incoherence.</p>
<p>Cas takes a deep breath and tries again. “Dean, please, I want to be inside you.”</p>
<p>A sharp spike of arousal shoots straight to Dean’s groin, and he moans around Cas before he pulls off and looks up. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that too.”</p>
<p>He shuffles back onto the mattress, pulling off his boxers as he goes.</p>
<p>Cas’ eyes follow him, heated but uncertain. “I… I know there are certain supplies that are required. Do you have…?”</p>
<p>Dean nods, twisting to reach his bedside table. He pulls open the drawer and thanks his lucky stars when he finds the bottle of lube inside still half full. “Don’t have condoms though.” He blushes a little. “I haven’t ever brought anybody back here. Haven’t really hooked up with anybody in a long time, actually.”</p>
<p>Cas sinks to his knees on the mattress, positioning himself between Dean’s legs. “I’m content to go without if you are. Human diseases are not a concern for me.”</p>
<p>Dean white-knuckles the sheets to calm down, because the mere idea of feeling Cas inside him without any barrier has him closer to the edge than he’d like. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good with that.”</p>
<p>Cas reaches for the bottle of lube. “I haven’t prepared anyone for anal penetration before, but I’ve… seen it done. I would like to try.”</p>
<p>Dean’s brain stalls again. “What do you mean, you’ve seen it done?”</p>
<p>Cas averts his eyes, studying the small, purple bottle in his heads. “I didn’t dare hope we would ever do this. But, just in case, I thought… given my lack of first-hand experience, some research would be helpful.”</p>
<p>“Research,” Dean says blankly, until the pieces slot together. “You’ve been watching porn so you’d know what to do in case we ever had sex?”</p>
<p>Cas nods, eyes still on the bottle of lube.</p>
<p>“Fuck, that’s hot,” Dean breathes. "Need you to touch me now.”</p>
<p>Cas looks up, eyes dark and hooded. He pops the bottle cap and coats his fingers generously, then bends over, hovering above Dean, his stomach just brushing the top of Dean’s heavy, leaking cock. His other hand trails hesitantly up Dean’s leg until it finds his entrance. </p>
<p>Dean paws frantically for his pillow and stuffs it under his hips to give Cas better access.</p>
<p>Cas’ long, thick finger circles the tight ring of muscle, teasing. </p>
<p>At the first tentative prod at his hole, Dean breathes deep, willing himself to relax. “Do it, Cas. Want you to.”</p>
<p>Cas pushes inside to the first knuckle, and Dean’s breath is punched out of him. He breathes past the burn and closes his eyes, trying to get used to the sensation of being filled up. It's been years since he's done this. He reaches down between his legs, guiding Cas’ movements as he slides that first finger deeper inside.</p>
<p>Once he’s adjusted, Dean opens his eyes to find Cas staring at him with naked awe, but also an undercurrent of worry. “I’m not hurting you, am I, Dean?”</p>
<p>“No, sweetheart,” Dean mumbles between heavy, panting breaths. “I’m good. Promise I’ll tell you if something doesn’t feel good. You can add another finger.”</p>
<p>Cas nods, determined, and soon, Dean’s being stretched wider. </p>
<p>He’s enjoying himself now, arousal at being this close, this <em> intimate </em>with Cas dispelling all thoughts of discomfort.</p>
<p>Cas adds a third finger and Dean rocks his hips back and forth to meet Cas’ thrusts. “Yeah, that’s it,” he breathes. “I’m ready for you. Need you inside me.”</p>
<p>Cas nods and withdraws his fingers. Every muscle in his body singing with anticipation, Dean watches Cas add more lube and stroke the length of his flushed erection, readying himself.</p>
<p>When the head of Cas’ cock breaches his entrance and Cas calls out for him, voice lower than Dean’s ever heard it, he nearly loses it. He takes hold of his cock, as tightly as he can manage without causing himself pain, and watches as Cas’ eyes glaze over with pleasure. Cas slides into him, slow and careful, seeming undecided whether he wants to see Dean’s face or the place where the two of them are joined. He settles for glancing back and forth, looking flushed and completely lost even as he bottoms out.</p>
<p>“I got you, Cas,” Dean says softly, cupping Cas face in his hand and running his thumb along a flushed cheek. “You’re OK.”</p>
<p>Cas nods, squeezing his eyes closed, forehead creased with tension. “It… it feels so good, Dean. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to last.”</p>
<p>“Doesn't matter.” Dean slides his thumb across Cas’ forehead, watching as the crease disappears under his touch.</p>
<p>“I don’t want you to be disappointed,” Cas murmurs, blue eyes opening and roaming across Dean’s face, searching for reassurance.</p>
<p>“It’s you, Cas. I could never be disappointed.” Dean smiles, and Cas’ face lights up in response, until Dean reaches up and flicks one of his nipples, laughing at Cas’ affronted look. “Now move.”</p>
<p>Cas does, gingerly at first, then with more and more confidence. Dean moves his hips to meet Cas with each thrust until they’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm, their bodies meeting without conscious thought.</p>
<p>Cas pulls Dean closer, and the change in angle has him brushing against Dean’s prostate, setting fire to the smoldering spark of his arousal.</p>
<p>The room is filled with the smell of sweat, the warmth of bodies coming together and the sound of flesh meeting flesh, and Dean loses himself in the pleasure of it all, relinquishing control over the broken moans spilling from his lips.</p>
<p>Above him, Cas is saying his name, over and over again, like there’s no better, more important word in any language, and Dean's pleasure pulls warm and tight inside him. “I’m close, Cas,” he pants.</p>
<p>“Me too,” Cas croaks, punctuating the words with a particularly forceful thrust. “Dean, if you don’t want me to… tell me, if…”</p>
<p>Dean knows exactly what Cas is trying to ask. “Come inside me, babe.”</p>
<p>With a final shout of Dean’s name, Cas comes. Dean takes hold of himself and strokes, and between the sight of Cas, slack-jawed with pleasure, and the sensation of Cas’ warm release inside him, his own climax overtakes him.</p>
<p>When they’re both spent, slick with sweat and sticky with come, Cas collapses on top of him, nuzzling his face into the side of Dean’s neck.</p>
<p>“Worth the wait,” Cas mumbles into Dean’s skin, and Dean smiles.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The nail sticking out of Dean's bed frame is a shout-out to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flurry_X/pseuds/Flurry_X">Flurry_X's</a> lovely fic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/17334332">There's a nail</a>. She's about to post Part 3 in that series, so give it a look!</p>
<p>Are you in need of more Endverse emotions? I've got an epilogue for that.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cas’ ribs take about two weeks to heal.</p><p>By that time, it’s increasingly clear that living in the same space as your doubles from another universe is just... a lot. Dean doesn't think he'll ever get used to walking in on a slightly older version of himself, frying up bacon in the kitchen or cleaning guns in the library. It's probably worst for Cas though, who has to spend his days sharing space with a constant reminder of his angel days.</p><p>Then there's the fact that the other Dean and Cas seem to have finally worked out their issues, but are still skittish and shy with their affection around others. The last thing those two need is more people around to watch their every move.</p><p>Dean knew they couldn’t stay at the bunker forever, but it's still a little daunting, giving up the first safe place they found after years of uncertainty and horror. He can see it in Sam and Cas’ eyes too, that slight edge of worry — what if everything they’ve carefully, slowly started to build falls apart the minute they’re out on their own?</p><p>The other Sam tries to reassure them as much as possible, offering the use of a car or two, some credit cards and a set of fake IDs. He gives them contact information for hunters across the country — people who would take them in for a while, no questions asked.</p><p>When they can’t put off leaving any longer, they settle on an Aston Martin DB3 from the bunker’s garage. Not a practical car, exactly, but sleek and in good shape. Also, it was the first car Dean took out for a spin with Cas in the passenger seat after they got here. Working under the Aston’s hood now, getting it ready for the drive, Dean’s actually excited about being out on the open road again, savoring the possibility that literally anything could happen — and it might even be something good.</p><p>He doesn’t notice Sam (his Sam) walking up until he’s right next to him. The sound of his own name startles him so badly, his head hits the open hood and he curses up a blue streak before he turns to face his brother.</p><p>Sam looks like he’s fighting a smile, but puts up both hands, palms out, in response to Dean’s glare.</p><p>“Hey, um, listen, Dean. I just… I wanted to let you know that I’m gonna head out on my own tomorrow.”</p><p>Dean’s immediate reaction is panic. He just got Sam back, now he wants to leave? “Why, man?”</p><p>Sam produces two cold beers from behind his back and motions for Dean to follow him to a couple of folding chairs nearby. Cas had set them up earlier so he could watch Dean work on the car and Dean would have a place to sit when he needed to take a break. It was a really thoughtful thing to do, and Dean kind of wishes he’d told Cas so. He’s still working on that: communication.</p><p>He sits down and accepts the beer, amused at how comically small the chair looks underneath Sam’s giant frame. </p><p>Sam holds out his own bottle, and Dean clinks them together before they both take a sip.</p><p>“First of all,” Sam says, wiping his condensation-wet fingers on his jeans, “I’m not saying this is goodbye. Far from it. But I know that you and Cas are done with hunting. And I’m not.”</p><p>Off the look on Dean's face, he adds, “I don’t mean I’m planning to go out by myself and look for monsters to kill. Nothing like that. I just… the other Sam told me there’s a version of Bobby up in Minnesota, working on setting up a network for younger hunters. Teaching them how to do research, giving them the weapons training they need. I think I wanna be a part of that. Maybe start to make up for my mistakes, as much as I ever can.” He swallows. “The other guys said they’d put in a good word for me.”</p><p>Dean looks at his brother, and he sees the determination there, but also the slight undercurrent of apprehension. He can’t blame Sam for treading carefully around him, but he’s tired of putting that look in people’s eyes.   </p><p>“If that’s what you want, Sammy, you should do it.”</p><p>Sam’s face goes slack with surprise, and Dean’s lips tick up in a lopsided smile. “I’m serious. Do what makes you happy. Just… stay in touch, alright? Don’t be a stranger.”</p><p>Sam surges forward, spilling a little of his beer on Dean’s shirt, but Dean can’t get himself to care when his brother’s arms are wrapped tight around his shoulders.</p><p>The next morning, Dean and Cas say their goodbyes and head for the open road. They take it slow, driving down whatever back road strikes their fancy and taking in the sights along the way. The credit cards they got from the bunker aren’t going to hit their limit anytime soon if they’re smart about their spending, and so they travel and look around and wait — for the place that feels right.</p><p>They end up finding it in Cheyenne. Dean always thought if he ever got to settle down someplace, it’d be way out in the country. And it’s true that he’ll never be a big-city kind of guy, but he’s tired of emptiness and loneliness. He just wants to see people around him, being content and normal and living their ordinary lives. Cheyenne turns out to be the best of both worlds: laid-back, but not<em> too </em> quiet.</p><p>They use one of the credit cards to put down a deposit on a ranch-style house on Eighth Avenue, near the Botanic Gardens. Cas likes to go for walks there in the mornings. Sometimes, he’ll sit for hours, reading, or writing down his stray thoughts.</p><p>Life is good, but it’s not perfect. Cas still gets cravings sometimes, and he still won’t go near pain meds. When Dean catches Cas in their room one afternoon, curtains drawn and unable to get out of bed because of a debilitating headache he won’t take anything for, he goes out and comes back with half a dozen Narcotics Anonymous brochures.</p><p>The first time Cas goes to a meeting, Dean agrees to go with him, but after that, he steps back. Cas keeps going, and one day, he comes home with this big grin on his face and tells Dean he’s going to be sponsoring someone else who’s just getting started at NA.</p><p>A few weeks later, Cas starts talking about the local community college, which offers certificate programs in addiction counseling. Cas takes a job at a Gas-n-Sip to make some extra money for tuition, and he starts going to night school to get the certificate done.</p><p>It’s obvious from the way Cas talks about his classes that he’s found his calling, and Dean wishes he could have that kind of clarity for himself.</p><p>He eventually tracks down a garage that’ll take him on. Engine repair is work he knows how to do, and that he even enjoys most of the time. Also, keeping his hands busy is one of the few reliable ways — well, the few reliable ways that don’t involve being naked with Cas — to shut off his brain, with its incessant gallery of nightmarish memories.</p><p>True to his word, Sam comes by to visit every once in a while, and he’s always full of stories about the young hunters he’s training. It’s clear that he’s still got his own moments of darkness, and sometimes the three of them just sit and drink together, remembering the past so they can keep moving on from it.</p><p>Eventually, Sam starts talking about this girl he met. She’s five years younger than him, but it sounds like she’s got him wrapped around her finger. The way Sam’s eyes light up when he talks about that thing she said or that other thing she did… well, Dean can pretty much tell this is it for his little brother.</p><p>So yeah, things are looking up. Cas is by his side, and they’re working on building a good life together. Neither of them are ever likely to forget their time under Croatoan, but forgetting wouldn’t feel right anyway. They need to remember their mistakes, because that’s how you do better.</p><p>That’s how you stay alive.</p><p>*** </p><p>Now that Dean and Cas are an item, Cas’ behavior around the bunker changes in countless little ways.</p><p>He starts mentioning how he’s always wanted to try gardening, and one morning, he drives his pickup truck into town and comes back with hundreds of dollars’ worth of tools, plus enough potting soil to start his own store.</p><p>He goes out the very next day and digs up a nice, sunny patch of ground about a half mile from the bunker’s front door. He refuses any and all help, and he’s covered in dirt when he trudges back inside at the end of the day, but he looks loose and happy. Within two weeks, there’s a thriving garden of flowers and vegetables.</p><p>Around the same time, Cas stops wearing his trench coat and suit jacket inside the bunker. Dean doesn’t say anything about it. Not until the day he spots Cas in a t-shirt and sweatpants.</p><p>“What gives, babe?” he asks, raising his eyebrows over his first cup of morning coffee. “Didn’t think you ever went for the casual look.”</p><p>Cas just shrugs as he pours his own cup. “I’ve noticed you look more comfortable when you dress like this. I decided to try it for myself, and I think I like it.”</p><p>Another thing: Cas always used to play board games to humor Jack, but now, he makes sure to invite Sam and Dean to play too. Family game night soon becomes a weekly thing.</p><p>Dean’s pretty sure that, with Cas’ strategic mind, he could beat the three of them at every game. He does win sometimes, but he almost seems to enjoy it more when somebody else does, his face going soft and warm when he watches Jack pump his fist or Dean grin around a mouthful of snacks.</p><p>Yeah, he’s definitely letting them win.</p><p>Dean isn’t really sure what all these changes add up to until the first time Cas needs to visit Heaven since the change in their relationship.</p><p>When he tells Dean, the night before he’s planning to head out, Dean asks to top for the first time, needing the reassurance that Cas is <em> his</em>. He knows it’s a shitty impulse, but he still has a hard time believing that Cas won’t just up and leave forever one day.</p><p>For the next three days, he’s constantly on edge. As soon as he hears the bunker’s door creak open and spots a familiar trench coat, he gets up from his chair in the library. For once, he can’t bring himself to care about looking too eager.</p><p>He doesn’t even make it to the stairs before Cas practically runs to meet him halfway across the war room, wrapping him up in a tight hug.</p><p>His breath tickles Dean’s ear when he whispers, “It’s so good to be back home with you.”</p><p>And that’s when Dean realizes what’s different: after all this time, Cas finally knows where he belongs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Again, thank you so much for coming along on this ride with me! I really appreciate all your support. If you enjoyed this fic and would like to share it with others, here's a <a href="https://friendofcarlotta.tumblr.com/post/628084592672440320/now-complete-the-heroes-journey-featuring">rebloggable tumblr post</a>.</p><p>Want to join me for my next WIP? If you <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendofCarlotta/pseuds/FriendofCarlotta">subscribe to me</a>, you'll get an alert every time I post something new. </p><p>Starting next week: The Driver (Modern AU, Rated E)</p><p>Dean Winchester is a mechanic and occasional movie stunt driver who’s nursing a crush on his neighbor, a single father named Castiel. Most people don’t know that Dean is also a sought-after getaway driver to LA’s underworld.</p><p>When a violent turf war threatens to engulf Dean and compromise the safety of Castiel and his son, Dean makes a choice that will change his life forever.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Liked what you read? Please take the time to leave kudos or even a comment! I don't exaggerate when I say that comments from readers like you are the reason I keep writing.</p><p>Find me on <a href="https://friendofcarlotta.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> or hang out with me on the <a href="https://discord.gg/profoundbond">Profound Bond Discord server</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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